Champions: Out of the Past
by LadyDeb1970
Summary: A mysterious entity transports a wounded Boromir to modern day North Carolina. There, he finds healing as well as a new purpose in life, providing aid, support, and protection to a trio of young women.
1. Prologue: The Chosen One

Author's Notes: This is the first story in a new series, _Champions_. It is yet another 'Boromir in Modern Earth after his death at Amon Hen,' but as I often like to do, it has a few new twists. Because really, where's the fun otherwise? I'm not entirely sure how many stories will be in this series. We'll just have to see. Also, please be advised that I'll be updating this when I have the opportunity. . .I'm working on other stories.

Disclaimer: Boromir and Middle-earth in general belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien, and somewhat to New Line Cinema. Boromir's mysterious rescuer; Megan and Kristin Rafferty; Captain Lydia Anders; Detective Elena Gutierrez; and all other modern type people belong to me.

This series is dedicated to Sean Bean, and to my sisters of the gwethil, for their patience, their laughter, and for listening.

Champions: Out of the Past

Prologue: The Chosen One

She had been watching him but for a short time. And in that short time, she saw everything she needed to know. He was magnificent. Long years passed since she walked among mortals, but if she still had a physical body, her breath would have caught in her throat. Oh, he was absolutely magnificent! A young warrior, proud and strong, penitent and humble. He reminded her so very much of the young ones in the modern world. . .they whom she claimed as hers. The warriors, the protectors, the guardians. The ones who stood between evil and innocence, and paid a high price for such bravery.

Just as, she recognized sadly, this young one would. Aye, the young lad would pay with his life. There were too many. . .too many. And one whom he could not see, and even if he did, he could not fight. An archer on the hill, preparing the young warrior's death even now. The first arrow took him in the shoulder. He staggered, falling briefly to one knee. And his two small companions stopped in their own battles, to stare at him in horror. But then, he surged to his feet, killing yet more of these abominations, the Uruk-hai. He fought on, steadily losing blood, and in terrible pain. She cringed in horror and sympathetic pain as a second arrow landed solidly in his midsection, and the force of the impact literally lifted him off his feet. He collapsed to his knees a second time, peering at his companions through tendrils of sweat-soaked hair.

And then he was on his feet once more! Such gallantry! Such determination, even in the face of death. If the young one knew fear, he did not show it. Instead, he dealt death blows to the demons, despite his own wounds, despite his blood loss. She almost regretted not having a physical body, for she would have gladly wept for this brave soldier. He would die defending these two tiny beings. He knew that, and still, he fought on. Until the final arrow found its mark in his chest, and he fell to his knees for the last time. Once more, he stared at his companions, but now, there was a pleading there. He was begging them for forgiveness, without saying a word. The two small ones seemed to understand that his strength was spent, for they rushed at the monsters, screaming in incoherent rage.

The small ones were swept into the arms of the demons, bearing them away from their valiant friend. . .each screaming his name. Whether they were begging him not to die, or. . . She knew not. The being knew only that the Uruk-hai tramped past the mortally wounded solder, no longer regarding him as a threat. _More fool they_. How many of their kind had he killed during the last several minutes? One man, alone. He had only his horn, now shattered, to call for aid. And where was that aid? Aye, she would weep for this one.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he raised his head to look up at the beast, even now drawing back an arrow for the killing blow, an arrow through the eye. The demon smiled at him mockingly, but her brave young warrior did not flinch. Pride rushed through her, and the outlines of a plan took shape in her mind. Before that final arrow was loosed, a second human male slammed into the monster, knocking him to the ground and sending the arrow wild. Her warrior collapsed forward, then dragged himself to a nearby tree.

She paid no attention to the second human. Instead, she focused her attention on her brave child. . .to her, he _was_ a child. Much to her sorrow, she discovered that she was right. He was dying. . .rapidly losing blood. And the being wished again that she could weep for him. He deserved no less. . .he deserved so much more. The second human finished the fight, decapitating the demon, and ran to his side. In a halting voice, weak with pain, her warrior begged forgiveness for a failure. She knew not what he did. . .she cared even less. He was a valiant, great man. She saw the proof for herself.

It was so terribly wrong. All of this was. And the plan which fermented in the back of her mind for the last several moments now fit together. As the young man died in the arms of the second human, who was apparently his king, as his other two companions mourned his death, she nodded to herself. Oh aye. . .she would. The trio tenderly cleaned him, removing those evil arrows from his gut, chest, and shoulder. His hair was brushed, then he was placed inside a boat, along with his sword. Was there a more fitting funeral for one so brave? If there was, she knew it not.

Even so, it was all wrong. She had it within her power to right this wrong. Not by bringing him back from the dead, for his spirit had not yet departed for its ultimate destination. His soul had left his body, yes. . .but he was not beyond healing. She could not do that here. There was only one way to save him. She had to take him into the future. In the future, he could be healed. . .body and soul. The spirit hovered nearby, torn between peace and helping his friends, righting the terrible wrong he committed. Yes. . .yes, she _could_ do this. She _wanted_ to do this. She _would_ do this. He would be an invaluable aid to her children in the modern world. He was like them, a warrior, a protector, a guardian.

With that, she closed her eyes and began to chant. A portal opened under the waterfall where her warrior's boat drifted. She would take him forward in time, reuniting body and spirit. Also, she would need to send a vision to his younger brother. It was necessary, to allow him to believe that his beloved brother was dead. It saddened her, but it was necessary. Things in this realm had to play out as they were meant to do. The boat fell over the edge of the waterfall, and through the portal. It would not land until she was ready for the new portal to open. She had to first choose a landing site, and in the meantime, this new Champion would remain between the worlds. '_Twill be good for him_, she thought. _Boromir of Gondor has fought for so many long years against the shadow of Mordor. He deserves a very, very long rest. And he shall receive it!_


	2. In Dreams

Well, I'm back, and the first update didn't take me as long as I thought it would (which isn't to say that it wasn't worked and re-worked until I was mostely satisfied with it. I'm still working out some details, so please be patient). I hope everyone received their responses.

In this chapter, you meet the rest of the cast (most of them.. .I'll have a few coming in later stories). A quick note about the last section. Boromir is probably a little out of character, but it's like this. . .imagine someone being woken up before they're ready, and really having no desire to go anywhere or do anything, but sleep. Plus, I really don't see him forgiving himself so easily, no matter what Aragorn says.

On with the story!

Chapter One

In Dreams

She felt dirty. So dirty. And not even her two previous showers could erase that. Nearly ten years, she had been a cop. In that time, there were times when Detective Megan Rafferty found it necessary to fire a weapon. She also, on occasion, found it necessary to kill. The latter was hard enough. But never before had she felt so dirty. And no matter how many times she told herself that the truly dirty one, the murderer, the pervert, was behind bars tonight, it wasn't enough. There were some things that no one should see. No human being, whether they were a civilian, a police officer, or a soldier. No one should see such things.

Water pelted her vulnerable skin, and she shuddered. The poor girl was still alive while he did. . .did those things to her. Megan could see it in the terror in her still-staring eyes. She saw it in the blood that dripped down her body. And she was so young. The same age as Megan's little sister. No more than nineteen or twenty. Twenty-one at most. She had brown eyes, just like Kristin. Long, straight black hair. . .just like Kristin. And before getting into the shower, Megan called her sister. . .just to hear her voice. Just to make sure her baby sister was all right. She was twelve years old when her parents adopted the ten-month-old Korean orphan, and from that moment on, Megan was Kristin's protector in all the ways imaginable.

Kristin was fine. Exhausted, but she was a pre-med student. She expected that. And instead of teasing her older sister about her over-protective nature, Kristin remained silent as Megan rambled about making sure she was alright and needing to hear her voice. Maybe Megan's partner, Elena, called her first. Maybe Kristin heard the horror in Megan's tone. The older sister didn't know. And maybe, she didn't really care. She was just grateful that for the first time since she reached the age of sixteen, Kristin accepted her protective nature.

The water rinsed away the body wash that Megan applied to her skin mechanically. For once, the smell of honeysuckle couldn't make her smile. For once, she couldn't call passages from Anne Rice's books to mind by the smell of her body wash. The horror was still too fresh, and Megan wasn't sure if she could ever smile again. It felt like she was violating that poor girl, just by being alive. She said as much to Captain Anders, who told her to take a few days off. She and Elena both. They needed time off, and they would have access to counseling. Things like that. . .they didn't happen in a place like Campbell. It had its share of problems. Drugs, gangs, robberies. . .even the occasional murder. But not this. Never like this.

Campbell, North Carolina was a town of about ten thousand people, located about halfway between Fayetteville and the state capital of Raleigh. On a good day, it took roughly forty-five minutes to reach either city. There were some potteries in the area, but there were far more in other parts of the state. Fayetteville had the two military bases, Fort Bragg Army Base and Pope Air Force Base. Raleigh was the capital. There were the golf courses in the ritzier part of Moore County, which was located about forty-five minutes west of Campbell. All in all, it was just a nice town. They had two cinemas, a nice-sized shopping mall, one or two museums, plus the local college (to be distinguished from Campbell University, which was in another county entirely). It wasn't anything special, but the people of Campbell liked it that way. Not every place could be special, after all. And not being special was special, in a way.

About half of the residents came from outside the state of North Carolina. Megan and Kristin both grew up here, as did Elena. Their captain, Lydia Anders, actually grew up in New Jersey. A popular rumor went around that she came to North Carolina, seeking 'the simple life.' Captain Anders rolled her eyes when she heard that, muttering under her breath about stupid people. She came to NC because she was fed up with the high taxes, which were getting worse all the time. Not because she expected things to be quieter in what the Hollyweird crowd called '_flyover country_.' When asked about that rumor, she said simply, _'people are people_.' Yeah. People were people. Or monsters. No matter where you were.

After the captain made her suggestion (order?), Megan wanted to protest. She didn't want to take a few days off. She wanted to know why. She wanted answers from that freak. Not a term Megan used lightly, but this time, it fit. She wanted that freak to tell her why he killed Bethany Lawson. But at the same time, she was too sensible not to realize that the captain was right. There were no answers. Not for filth like this. There was another factor. Megan recognized that she would betray that poor girl if her rage prevented her from doing her job. And if Megan didn't listen to her captain, the rage would overwhelm her. So. Here she was.

Her fingers worked mechanically, soaking and then soaping her hair. As a teenager, she was told that conditioner was necessary if she washed her hair on a daily basis. She washed her hair three times now, and not once did she use conditioner. That didn't occur to her. Nor did she care. A girl was brutally murdered, and Megan was determined to make sure her murderer went to jail for a very long time. She and Elena did everything strictly by the book, much as they hated it. It was something they discussed after finding Bethany's body. They both wanted to pound the perp into mush. He wanted them to, as well. Megan could see the disappointment in his eyes when they simply arrested him, and that gave her a small bit of satisfaction. Very small.

Yes. Focus on that. Not on Bethany's poor, mutilated body. Focus on that flicker of disappointment when he realized he couldn't goad his two arresting officers into beating him within an inch of his life. Once more, she rinsed her hair, squeezing out the excess water with quick, sharp motions, then tilted her head back. Megan stood there under the spray for what could have been seconds, minutes, or hours. She would have stayed there forever, but it was getting cold. And she promised that she would call Kristin. A half-smile touched the corners of her mouth. She must have frightened Kristin. Her little sister demanded that she call again in a few hours. If that was true, if she frightened Kristin, she would apologize.

The water was turned off, though when she found herself outside the tub, with a towel wrapped around her chest, Megan couldn't remember turning off the water. . .or stepping out of the tub. . . or even reaching for the towel. She shook herself. Dammitall, the captain was right. If she couldn't track what she was doing when she was simply getting out of the shower, then she had no business being out on the streets. But that knowledge hurt. It felt like she was letting him win. Yes, she and Elena controlled themselves and prevented an accusation of police brutality, which denied him a small win. But that wasn't good enough. It didn't make Bethany Lawson any less dead. Nor did it dry the tears of her parents. It wasn't good enough. It wasn't nearly good enough. Megan's instincts were crying out to get back on the street and. . .

Do what, exactly? That was when her sensible side made itself known. She snorted and shook her head, disgusted with herself. What exactly would she do? Go medieval on some perp's ass? Maybe lose control when she saw someone mistreating a child? And that would help, how? It wouldn't. It would get her suspended, allow the guilty to walk on a technicality, and Elena would be without a partner. No. No, as much as she wanted to be back on the streets, she couldn't do this. Not until she had herself under control. With that resolved, she shoved her feet into the bathroom slippers that were a Christmas present from Kristin, then slipped the matching bathrobe around her shoulders.

She padded out of the bathroom, and to her phone. No messages. Thank whatever deity was out there. On this night, Megan wasn't sure if she believed in any deity. Never a devout woman, her belief in any Higher Being was shaken by what she saw tonight. What she saw tonight. . .how could any loving, merciful Being allow that to happen? Oh yes, she knew about free will, but. . .how? She closed her eyes, her jaw tightening, trying to force the image back. But it came anyhow. Not just seeing that poor girl's body, but holding her as a weeping Elena cut her down. And the smile when they caught that pile of manure. His smile. It was, as Elena said later, nearly orgasmic. Especially when he saw the blood-stains on their clothes.

Enough. Megan opened her eyes, forcing the memory back once more. It probably wouldn't stay away long, but for now, it bought her some time. And any relief was a reason to be grateful. But. . .she was a cop. She wasn't supposed to react like this. She was supposed. . . Megan shook her head, picked up the receiver, and purposefully punched in the number for her sister. It was actually Kristin's cell phone, and she was likely to get her sister's voicemail since Kristin was at the hospital tonight, as she often was when she didn't have classes early the following morning, but that wasn't the point. She was keeping a promise. Megan never broke a promise to her sister, and she would not start now. The phone rang once, twice, then. . .

"Rafferty," her sister said tersely. Megan released a faint sigh of relief, once more taking comfort in the sound of Kristin's voice, and her sister immediately said, her tone changing, "Meg? Is that you, Meggie?" Meggie. Kristin and Elena were the only people who could get away with calling her that. . .the only people her own age, at least, or younger. There wasn't much she could do about people who were the ages of her parents, after the first request to be called 'Megan' or 'Meg.' Fortunately, most people over the age of sixty tended to call her 'Meg' or 'Megan.' 'Meggie' just wasn't as prevalent.

"It's me, Kristin. I just wanted to let you know that I was alright," Megan replied, smiling a little. The police detective sat down on the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her. She made herself a little more comfortable, staring at the family portrait that hung over her entertainment center. It was actually several pictures, with the family portrait in the center, and four pictures flanking it in the corners of the frame. The photograph was taken when Kristin was three, and she sat in Megan's lap, beaming at the camera as she played with Megan's fingers. The elder sister couldn't help but smile, remembering the day that picture was taken. Kristin wore what was her favorite dress at the time. . .a little rose print smock that their mother made for her. Fifteen year old Megan, usually awkward and shy, for once looked serene and at ease, in her own white blouse and plaid skirt.

Beside them sat their mother, Ailsa. Half of her attention was on the two young girls seated beside her, and half was on the camera. But though her smile was distracted, it was also proud. Behind the davenport where the three Rafferty females were seated stood Megan's father, Francis, and he beamed at the camera. Megan's own smile brightened. That was such a good day. After Kristin was adopted, her parents often told her that they were so proud of her, of how well she took having a little sister. But Megan always wanted a little sister, and Kristin's adoption was a dream come true for her.

In each corner was a picture of the sisters' graduations. . .both high school and college. And in all four pictures, the two sisters were cheek to cheek, whether they were side by side, or Kristin was in Megan's arms. Although, admittedly, even at Megan's high school graduation, her sister was already getting too big for Megan to be picking her up and holding her on her hip. Still, she was young and strong, and didn't worry about throwing out her back by picking up her six year old sister. She was so happy, she didn't even get upset about Kristin's candy-sticky fingers in her hair. Oh, Megan adored her little sister, but that didn't mean she didn't get impatient with her. She did. But not that day. That day, she was a high school graduate, and had another great adventure ahead of her with her freshman year of college.

Kristin said softly, drawing her sister's attention back, "I'm glad. I was really worried about you. I never heard you sound like that, Meg, and it scared me." Yeah. Megan could believe that. Ever since she became a cop, she tended to protect her younger sister from the dark side of her work. Hardly necessary, since Kristin was studying to become a doctor, but Megan could no more turn off her protective impulses than Kristin could turn off her desire to heal. The younger woman went on, "Listen, Meg, you said that Captain Anders gave you a few days off. . . would you mind coming up? There. . .we. . .the hospital got a patient this evening, and. . .well, it's kinda weird. Not gruesome. Just. . .weird."

Weird how, exactly? Kristin used that word about as frequently as Megan used the word, 'freak.' Which meant. . . Well, she wouldn't jump to any conclusions. Her sister continued, "You know I've been spending time here as a volunteer, you know, to help with the patients,when I don't have classes. A guy was brought in about four hours ago. . .someone found him in the alley, and called an ambulance. So far, so good, right? Except. . . Well. . .first, the guy looks like he's a Ren Faire reject, and the next Ren Faire isn't for several months. Oh, and of course, that makes me think of you all over again. You do realize I've never forgiven you for getting me addicted to those things, right?"

Megan laughed softly at the mock-indignation in her voice, and sounding encouraged by the sound, Kristin went on, "Anyhow, so they bring him in and he's in real bad shape. We get to work, stabilizing him, but keep an eye on the wounds, for obvious reasons. I mean, I watched more than anything else, but. . . Anyhow, we think at first, he's been shot. Two problems with that. First, there's no powder residue on his clothes. Second thing is, the wounds are all wrong for a GSW. So, one of the residents says, 'I recognize these kind of wounds. They're arrow wounds.' And everyone is like, arrows? As in bow and arrows? And she goes, 'yeah, or maybe a crossbow. Somebody tried to turn this guy into a pincushion.' So, I was thinking. . ."

"Have the police up there been notified?" Megan asked, seeing exactly where her sister was heading with this request. Her mind was already working out the details. This was out of her jurisdiction, and she didn't like stepping on the toes of other departments. It was a professional courtesy, especially since she was currently on paid leave. Of course, she could go, on the grounds that she was visiting her sister. Still, it made her somewhat uncomfortable. Megan was never a maverick cop. She wasn't like Mel Gibson in the _Lethal Weapon_ movies. On the other hand, Kristin rarely brought cases to her attention like this. . .

So when Kristin did ask for her help, she was inclined to give it in an official capacity. Or, somewhat official. She would be off-duty, and using what she learned during her years in the Society for Creative Anachronism (also known as the 'SCA'), but she was still a cop. And she would still be doing her job. Megan thought over what Captain Anders told her and Elena after she viewed Bethany Lawson's body. '_I want the two of you away from this case. In fact, you both are way overdue for some time off. Take a few days, a week. No, no arguments. Yes, we'll be short-handed, but I'm not willing to take chances like that with your lives, or the lives of anyone in this town. Our mission is to serve and protect. . .and neither of you are in any condition to do that_.' Words and the spirit of the message weren't always the same, but her instincts told her that Captain Anders would be all right with this. . .she just needed a little more information, first. Megan asked her sister, repeating herself, "Have the Raleigh police been notified, before I talk to the captain about heading up there?"

"Yeah, they have. See, the thing is. . .well. . .we have no leads to give them. . .no bullet, no way of tracing whoever did this to him. That's why I thought about calling you. Sis, you're a Ren Faire freak, and still belong to the SCA. If you could just come take a look at what we've put together, maybe you can at least give the local cops a place to start. I knew you would feel uncomfortable, and I told the detective who came by the hospital that my sister was a cop in Campbell, and that you were also big into Ren Faires and old weapons. He said to come on up, if you could clear it with your captain," Kristin replied.

Megan released a breath slowly, then said, "Okay. But you realize, I'll have to bring Elena with me. I'm worried about her, and I know she'll worry about me. Besides, she knows even more about old weapons than I do." Kristin laughed, but it was true. Elena's minor in college was history. Her father had something of a museum of ancient weapons in his home, and by the time she was fifteen, Elena could correctly identify what weapon belonged to what country and in what time period. Megan wasn't nearly as adept as her partner and knew it.

"Thanks, sis. I'll see you soon. Crap. Gotta go. . .got an ambulance pulling into the bay. I love you!" And with that, Kristin was gone, leaving Megan to stare at the receiver in amazement. It would seem that she definitely shook up Kristin with her earlier call. Kristin never said '_I love you_' any more. Well. . .rarely. After a moment, she shook her head. Never mind that. She had arrangements to make. And a partner to call.

* * *

Boromir wasn't allowed to rest as long as he should have been. She regretted that. He deserved far more than what she was able to give him. Her brave young warrior spent nearly five of her years in what her modern children called 'stasis,' just time enough for her to bring him back from the brink of death (they called it, 'stasis.' She called it, 'lying between two worlds. . .the world of the living and the world of the dead.'). In human terms, she still couldn't calculate how long, since she moved forward in time. It could have been fifty years for the mortals. . .it could have been one hundred. Either way, it wasn't enough time. He was still very badly injured. . . the damnable arrows had pierced several vital organs, and the final arrow came entirely too close to his valiant warrior heart. But at least now, he stood a fighting chance with modern medicine and technology. 

Unfortunately, she brought him into the modern world a little ahead of schedule, because of the grievous harm done to her two of her champions. She watched over them both since they were little girls. She was there when seventeen year old Elena vowed to her weeping mother that she would become a police officer, after her grandfather was killed by murderous robbers. She was there when ten month old Kristin was placed in the arms and hearts of Francis and Ailsa Rafferty, and their twelve year old daughter. She knew them both, inside and out.

So she knew that finding that poor child's body devastated the pair. They both saw terrible things in the past, of course. They were police officers, sworn to protect and serve the people of this small city. But this was something far beyond their normal experience. In truth, it was beyond her own experience. She queried her brothers and sisters, to see if the perpetrator of this evil crime was even human. The being knew from hearing their stories about an evil man in the middle half of the twentieth century, much like Sauron of Boromir's Middle-earth.

Sauron was destroyed with the destruction of the Ring, but that wasn't the end. His evil was reborn in monsters such as Adolf Hitler, in Josef Stalin, and too many others. Because of that, the being wondered if Bethany Lawson's murderer was the modern day incarnation of the Uruk-hai, one of the demons who nearly cost her warrior his life. But no. . .he was human, though just barely. There were people like her darling warrior, those who tried their very best and stumbled, but always got up. Then there were others. Like the monster who did such terrible things to that poor child. She knew that the girl was at peace now, but. . .but she wasn't the reason why Boromir was now in the modern world.

He was there for the people who remained. People like her champions, who had their very hearts and souls torn out by this most recent circumstance. Helping him to heal would also help her champions to heal. All three of them. Oh yes, the young healer in training was among her champions. Still, she wished she could have given Boromir more time. He faced so many bewildering challenges in this strange new world. Before she allowed him to awaken, she might consider wiping his memory. Twas meant as a kindness. Without the confusing memories of the past, he would find it far simpler to join this modern world. It would depend largely on him.

Upon materializing in the present, she placed Boromir's unconscious body in an alley, where she knew where he would be found. Alleys were better for her, as they had less possibility of attracting the attention of local mortals. And she chose Raleigh because Campbell had enough problems at the moment, with Bethany Lawson's murder. The mysterious arrival of a stranger would attract far too much attention in the comparatively small town. No. No, Raleigh was much better for her purposes.

As she placed Boromir on the ground, tenderly lowering his head to the asphalt, he moaned softly in pain, a sound that made her want to weep all over again. His skin was so very pale. . .not as ashen as it was when his spirit fled his body, but also not the vibrant tone of a healthy young man. While he slept, she wondered if Aragorn could have healed him, had Boromir not stopped him. Yes, she knew the name of Boromir's king now. She had much time to listen once she placed Boromir in between worlds.

And still he slept. That was for the best, of course. The young healer in training, Kristin, had neatly folded his clothes and put them away. After seeing to the ambulance that cut off her conversation with her sister, she returned to the hospital room where Boromir lay. She checked his chart, then lightly stroked his blond hair tenderly back from his forehead, murmuring, "You're hot, whatever your name is. If worst comes to worst, and you don't remember it, we'll make one up for you. You really don't look like a John, after all. According to your chart, you're around thirty-five or forty. A little old for me, but you're still a hunk."

That, the being knew, was a compliment among young people. She was familiar enough with the terminology of this time to know that 'hottie' or 'hunk' were alternative ways to call someone handsome. And he _was_ handsome, of course. Her new champion was considered one of the most desirable bachelors in Gondor for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which were his good looks and his status as the heir to the Steward of Gondor. Boromir spent much of his life fighting, and in truth, he had little experience dealing with women.

She had her theory about that, of course. He took delight in the tools of his trade as a soldier, while Faramir took comfort in his books. It was her belief that rather than find comfort in the arms of a woman, Boromir took comfort in his sword and the camaraderie of his fellow soldiers. . .he could trust his weapons. But with women, there was the ever-present fear that they would leave. . .that they would die. His mother died when he was barely ten years old, just a child. Which led to a question, or more appropriately, a fear. Once Boromir was stronger, what would prevent him from turning away from her champions?

The answer was there immediately. His honor. His strong need to protect others. When all was said and done, Boromir was a protector. His fierce pride and honor wouldn't allow him to turn away from her champions. Especially since he would be in their care. No. No, Boromir would remain, long after he regained his strength. Never mind that her other champions were all quite capable of taking care of themselves. They were women, and Boromir was taught since childhood to protect women.

She stifled a smile. 'Twould be interesting to see, to say the least. Kristin had more than twenty years of her sister's protectiveness, and nearly as many of Elena's. Neither Megan nor Elena were protected as Kristin was, and she believed it would be far more difficult for them to accept Boromir's protective nature. Kristin, most likely, would roll her eyes in exasperation. But in the end, she would accept it. It was entirely likely that all three would surprise her. . .they had been surprising her since the moment of their respective births.

That was, in fact, one of the reasons she loved them all so much. They were so utterly unpredictable in some ways. . .and equally predictable in others. Boromir would have his work cut out for him, if he was to protect the trinity. But she had no doubt whatsoever that he was up to the challenge. Kristin checked Boromir's vitals one last time, then left the room, her long black hair a silky rope down the middle of her back. She would be back. She would always come back. She was too much like her sister to do otherwise.

Her sister. Megan. Thirty-two years old, a cop for ten years, and a detective for the last three. While she was a young detective, only twenty-nine when she reached that rank, it was hardly unheard of. Her partner Elena was six months younger than Megan, and attained the rank of detective when she was twenty-eight. They had been partners for years, and friends even before that. While Megan was the 'oldest sister' of the trio, it was Elena who was supposedly the toughest one. A street-smart girl who was far more vulnerable than she let on. In some ways, she reminded the being of Lady Eowyn, the young shield maiden who became Boromir's sister-in-law when she married Faramir. Logically, that would leave Megan as Arwen, but the fit wasn't right. And the being knew neither was a Middle-earth reincarnation.

No, while Elena and Megan both had old souls, neither of their souls were quite _that_ old. Arwen and Eowyn were in this time, of course. One was a doctor in the Australian military, and the other was a child's advocate in the courts, a protector and a defender of children. It was possible that Boromir would meet the reincarnation of his queen at some point, though she hoped not. For them to meet would mean. . .well, she knew it was entirely too likely. Elena and Megan often protected children who witnessed. . .or experienced. . .crimes.

The others were present as well, not all of them in the occupations one might expect. And not all of them carried the faces of their previous selves. Some did. But some carried the faces of people whom Boromir had known before, and not their souls. That fact alone caused her to fear for Boromir, for it would break his heart. He would mistake the modern-day doppelgangers for the people he had known and trusted. She could only hope that such a mistake would not cost him his life, not when she fought so hard to save it.

But that was in the future, and now, he had to recover from his devastating injuries. The doctors were still uncertain how he survived. And that would remain a mystery to them. It was unnecessary for them to know the truth. When she chose, she could be just as mysterious as young Galadriel. For now, it was enough that the sisters and Elena knew of Boromir's existence. For now, it was enough that her young Champions would soon be whole once more. She bent and lightly kissed Boromir's forehead. . .then vanished as if she had never been there.

* * *

Elena Gutierrez was at a loss. During the years she spent on the force, she never found herself on leave like this. Despite the role of the fiery Latina she often played, Elena kept her emotions, and her temper, under control. She was a cop. To do anything else was to betray her sacred trust, and Elena took her oaths seriously. Whether she was protecting and serving the people of Campbell, North Carolina, taking care of her family, or watching out for the Rafferty sisters, Elena took all of her oaths seriously. She didn't allow herself to lose her cool, and she didn't let things to get to be too much for her. Until now. Until tonight. 

If she closed her eyes, she could still see Bethany Lawson hanging there. She could see Megan's horrified expression, and feel Bethany's sticky blood as she cut the girl down. Like her partner, too, Elena immediately noticed the similarities between Bethany and Megan's younger sister Kristin. This leave was supposed to help her get her head together. How could she do that when she kept seeing those godawful images in her mind, playing like a never-ending movie? And now Kristin was worried about Megan. . . well, she could understand why. Despite Kristin's occasional frustration with her sister's protectiveness, the girl really wasn't prepared to deal with Megan being the vulnerable one for once.

Something which Elena found somewhat amusing, since Megan was far more vulnerable than her sister recognized. Megan was often painted as the stable one, the rock. Elena was the fiery one, Kristin was the pretty one. . .Megan was the rock. And those. . .stereotypes. . .were true, up to a point. But the descriptions didn't go far enough, because as far as Elena was concerned, all three were pretty. And all three could be fiery, when the circumstances warranted. Similarly, all three took turns being the rock.

The trouble was, right now, Kristin was the rock, and she was totally unprepared for it. Or so Elena thought, until the phone rang. It was, surprisingly enough, Kristin. She had spoken to Megan, who seemed more. . . herself. Which was to say, she seemed more in control of herself. But that wasn't why Kristin was calling. Something that surprised Elena anew. The young pre-med student told her, "I just talked to Meg about this as well. . .we have a John Doe here at the hospital. He. . .it's a little weird. He was badly injured." And proceeded to tell Elena exactly why this was so weird. First, he wasn't a GSW. . .instead, the injuries he suffered to his chest, abdomen, and shoulder were consistent with those of arrows.

It got more interesting. His clothes, Kristin described as medieval. Actually, he looked like a Renaissance Faire reject. . .those were Kristin's words, at any rate. His injuries were consistent with puncture wounds caused by arrows, but the arrows were no longer in his body. The local police had no place to start. . .would Elena agree to accompany Meg when she called? There was only one answer to that. Where Megan went, so did Elena. They had been friends since the first day of high school, when Megan went to the defense of the new girl, who had attended St. Monica's for the previous eight years.

Megan, like the majority of Campbell High's students, was neither a prep, a geek, or a jock. She fell between the cracks, and was nothing at all. That was fine by her. She quietly went about her education with friends from all three groups. And the only time she left the comfort of the shadows was to defend someone else. . .a newcomer who fell victim to the nastier preps. Someone like Elena, who was quite capable of defending herself, but that didn't make her any less grateful to the quiet young girl standing up to the prissy little bitches who looked down their perfect noses at anyone who didn't wear designer clothes.

Still, it took Elena a little time to let down her guard. She was a proud girl, and she wasn't about to simply give her trust, even to someone who defended her. It was a trait that drove her mother insane, for she believed Megan would be a good influence on the slightly-wild Elena. But she wouldn't push it. Nor would the other girl. Instead, Megan slipped back into the shadows, until Elena was ready to trust her. In the meantime, Elena found her own way, her own niche in her new school. She was the experiment in the family. If this experiment worked, her younger sisters and brother would eventually go to the public high school. Elena didn't care one way or the other about where her siblings went to school, but she didn't quit, and she was determined to make something of herself.

In the way that was so often the case, it was no single, dramatic act which ultimately won Elena's trust and loyalty for Megan. Like the town that nurtured them both, Megan wasn't into dramatic acts. She simply was, and as Elena grew to realize that Megan didn't feel sorry for her, and thus, didn't consider herself somehow superior to Elena, the newcomer allowed her guard to drop. By the time Christmas rolled around, the pair were in the process of becoming friends. For reasons Elena never truly understood, the prissy brats who caused her trouble on her first day loathed her, and delighted in spreading lies about her through the school. It didn't seem to make a difference to Megan. . .except when she heard people referring to her and Elena as 'the goody-two-shoes and the slut.' Meg tended to take exception with that. And not because of the insult to herself. Insults to Elena, however, were another story.

So now, here they were. . .in their early thirties. Not just friends, but partners as well. One of the happiest days of Elena's life was when Captain Anders told her that Megan was her new partner. It wasn't as easy as she thought it would be, in the beginning. She already trusted Megan deeply, but being partners wasn't the same as being best friends. She and Megan had to learn to anticipate each other's moves. Their minds working in the same patterns wasn't good enough. . .because training and instinct were sometimes diametrically opposed. But in time, the pair moved as a team, strengths and weaknesses on both sides balancing out.

After assuring Kristin that she would accompany Megan, Elena went into her room to pack for the trip. Strangely enough, there was no doubt in her mind that Captain Anders would okay this trip. Especially once it was mentioned that she and Meg were only trying to give the Raleigh police leads. . .trying to point them in the right direction. Lydia Anders was a firm believer in the idea of reciprocity. . .or, more appropriately, 'scratch my back and I'll scratch yours.' They might need the aid of the Raleigh police department at some point, depending on what the Lawson investigation turned up. There were times when more than professional courtesy was required, after all.

As Elena began organizing her clothes, her phone rang yet again. . .only this time, it was her cell phone. Elena grinned to herself, recognizing the ring tone. She snapped the cell up from her night stand, where it had been resting, and said, "You know, you don't waste much time, querida." Her partner's laughter rang out, and Elena continued, her smile broadening, "I'm in the process of packing now. . .did you want to call Captain Anders and let her know what's going on, or shall I do that?"

"Well, I was thinking of letting you do it, acushla, since you're soooo good at it," Megan teased lightly, using her favorite Irish Gaelic endearment (also the only one she knew, but that was beside the point). Elena rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue, even though her friend couldn't see it. Megan continued after a moment, "Seriously, though, I'll give her a call. Next order of business. . .do you want to drive up, or. . .?" Elena thought about that as she retrieved her overnight bag from the closet. It had a little more room in it, to accommodate the additions, but she knew she would need a second bag as well.

"We could take the train or the bus up, and let Kristin ferry us," the slightly younger woman answered. A sound best described as a 'meh' came from her partner, and Elena added, "Yeah, I agree. All right, I'll drive, and you sleep." The next sound she heard was a raspberry blown over the line. Elena chortled, "You might want to wipe off the phone when we're finished, Meggie." She was rewarded with another raspberry. It was a running joke between the pair. . .unless Megan was driving, she would fall asleep almost immediately during a long drive.

"Pot, kettle. . .we're cops, we take sleep where we can get it," Meg retorted. Yeah, like doctors and military personnel. However, that never prevented Elena from teasing her friend about it. Especially since it was a habit left from Megan's childhood. She rarely said 'when I was a little girl' any longer, since she was considerably shorter than Elena. . .she barely met the department height requirements. Elena, and some of the veterans, often teased her by reminding her that she still wasn't very big. The veterans got a pass. Elena? A raspberry. Of course.

"Yeah, well, you get some sleep yourself, short-stuff," Elena told her partner. Meg's silence was worth a thousand words. She would be getting about as much asleep as Elena would that night. The taller partner said softly, "We caught him, Meg. At least we have that. And her parents weregrateful to know that he was off the streets." It was small comfort, for both her and her partner. He was off the street. Her parents were grateful that the man who murdered their daughter was caught. . .that was something they could give the couple who lost their child. Elena didn't bother with 'alleged.' She would leave that to the lawyers and the journalists.

"We caught him. But I'll still dream," Megan replied hoarsely. What could Elena say to that? What could she possibly say to that? Of course Megan would dream. They both would. But only one of them had a sister who even remotely resembled poor Bethany. Elena thought about going over. . .neither of them should be alone. However, Megan sighed finally, "I'll be all right. Pinkie promise. Mrs. Watkins is bringing over Nico. She heard about Bethany's death, and when I got back to the apartment building, she told me that Nico would stay with me."

"I need to move into that building," Elena said, not for the first time. Mrs. Watkins was, in many ways, a dream neighbor. Eighty-five years old, she was the widow of a World War II veteran, the mother of a firefighter, and the grandmother of a police officer. She absolutely doted on Megan, and often 'loaned' her German Shepherd, Nicodemus, to the young detective after a trying case. Nico was an eighty pound lap dog. . .a big baby when he was alone with Mrs. Watkins, Megan, or Elena. Try to threaten any of his ladies, though, and he gotnasty.

"So why don't you?" Megan asked, also not for the first time. Elena made a face, knowing full well that her partner couldn't see it. Not that it mattered. Meg went on, "Anyhow, I think I hear Mrs. Watkins and Nico now. Shall we discuss this further in the morning, once we've slept?" That was probably for the best, and she said so. The two friends exchanged a pair of 'good-nights,' and then hung up the phone. With a sigh, Elena sank down onto her bed. Maybe she should have gone over to Megan's anyhow. It would be a long night.

* * *

She was used to being the little sister. For much of her early life, she was the little sister, the youngest child, the baby. And she was a little spoiled. She knew that. She recognized that. Maybe that was where her drive to heal came from. Because she was the baby. Because she was a little spoiled. . .because she was protected, from the moment she arrived in the United States, and was placed in the arms of Ailsa Rafferty. She had everything any child could ask for. Loving parents, an adoring older sister. She was lucky. She knew how lucky she was. And that was why she needed to heal. That was why she had to take care of other people. 

When she was little, and Megan was away at college, she was allowed to play with her sister's old toys and dolls. Kristin liked playing nurse with them. . .liked being the one to take care of others, even if they weren't really real. By this time, she was learning that not everyone was a little sister. . .some of her new friends were big sisters and big brothers, and they took care of their little brothers and little sisters. At least, they helped their mommies to take care of the babies. Kristin was the baby, so there was no one for her to help take care of. No one except the dolls and the stuffed animals. . .both hers and her sisters.

As she got older, that changed. When Megan went back to college for her sophomore year, she was nineteen and Kristin was seven. As Meg held her tightly, she whispered, "Take care of Mom and Dad for me." Pleased with this important job, Kristin did just that. Their parents were rarely ill, but when they were, Kristin was always on hand to help in any way she could. Looking back now, she was sure that she actually got in the way far more often than she actually helped, but her parents always thanked her for what she did. Even if it was something as simple as carefully carrying a tray with orange juice to Daddy when he had a cold, or covering Mommy up with a blanket when she took her naps. Megan had her way of taking care of people, Kristin realized, and she had her own. So that was what she did. She took care of their parents. After all, they weren't as young as they used to be.

She just never figured that she would take care of her own sister, before she even had her medical degree. . .for that matter, before she was even out of college. Scratch that. She never thought. . . Kristin Rafferty sank back against the wall, rubbing at her eyes wearily. She wasn't ready to be the big sister. Her older sister was the rock, the one from whom everyone else drew strength. It wasn't fair, of course. Megan was a cop, absolutely committed to the protection of the people of Campbell, to the people she had known her entire life. But it was also. . .even so. They all drew strength from her. Even people who were supposed to be her sources of strength. People like their parents. . .like their cousin Gavin.

Their parents depended upon Megan, especially when Kristin was small. And Megan didn't mind. She wasn't especially popular at school. . .she spent most of her time on her studies, with Elena, and with Kristin. If Francis and Ailsa Rafferty wanted to go out, then Megan was ready, willing, and able to take care of Kristin, up until the time she went to college. Elena would come over, and the two would study once Kristin went to sleep. . .or they would watch movies. . .or just talk. Kristin herself came to regard Megan as a constant in her life. So much so that Kristin cried herself to sleep every night when Megan first went to college. It wasn't the same without Megan.

She never told her sister that, of course. When Megan came home, there were too many other things to tell her. Kristin just started first grade, and there were so many things she wanted to tell her big sister. Everything she learned, and all about her teachers, and her friends. It sometimes seemed to her parents and her sister that she had a new best friend every week. Too many times, she would fall asleep in her sister's lap, listening to Megan talk about her own adventures at college. Not surprising, she and Elena were roommates. What surprised everyone, as Kristin learned later, was that it didn't destroy their friendship. Not everyone was that lucky. Kristin knew she wasn't.

Speaking of lucky. . . She had work she needed to do, and she wasn't here to complain about her bitch of an ex-roommate. The raven-haired student pushed off the wall and returned to the room where their John Doe rested. Explaining why she was so drawn to him was an impossibility for her. She just. . .had to be around him. Kristin knew it sounded idiotic, but she had this overwhelming feeling that he needed her. Fortunately, since she came up with talking to two SCA lunatics (namely her sister and Elena), no one really minded that she went in to check on him ever so often. It wasn't really encouraged. . .it was never strongly encouraged, in fact, to become attached to the patients. Even for the volunteers like herself. But. . .she was left alone. At least for now.

She slipped inside the darkened room. The shades were drawn as the sun went down, and Kristin moved slowly to one of the lamps, guided by the light from the hallway. She switched the lamp on, and straightened up, eyeing their patient. Not surprisingly, he remained unconscious. Kristin hadn't told Megan or Elena, but the man awakened briefly and tried, somewhat weakly, to fight them. He seemed terrified. The girl shook her head. What had happened to him that he reacted with such terror when people were trying to help him? They sedated him, of course, before he could tear any of his stitches and start bleeding once more, and he remained unconscious. He would be waking up again soon. Maybe when he did, they could at least find out what his name was or where he was from, since he had no identification with him. Kristin knew from listening to the med students and the residents that patients couldn't always remember what happened to them.

The pre-med student picked up his chart once more, scanning what she already knew. He was between thirty-five and forty, at their best guess. Aside from the wounds to his chest, gut, and shoulder, he seemed to be in excellent physical condition. Very physically fit. Around six feet, give or take an inch. Weight, around one eighty, and most of that was muscle. Kristin put down the chart and looked at the man. He was, as she noted in the past, very good-looking. In that brief time when he regained consciousness, she discovered that his eyes were green. His hair was dark blond, worn almost to his shoulders, and he sported a rather attractive goatee.

Right now, his face was slack, his head listing to one side on the pillow. She would almost think he was sleeping, rather than unconscious. Kristin shook her head, murmuring, "Who are you, and what happened to you?" His clothes were in a drawer, neatly folded. She placed them there. When she had the chance, she'd have them washed, so the smell of his spilled blood wouldn't overwhelm the room. Ren Faire reject. . .that was what his clothes suggested to her. And yet. . . There were some things that didn't quite add up. Some things that didn't. . .that felt wrong. Horribly wrong.

For instance, while they were working on him, after she was hustled out of the room, she heard someone saying that given the wounds, and the blood on his clothes, he should have been dead. He lost a great deal of blood, and given the abdominal wound, he should have been bleeding inside. He wasn't. The internal damage should have been far more severe. It was severe, yes. . .but. . . Kristin shook her head once more, frowning. It didn't add up. Not for her. And, she was betting, not for the others, either. The weird arrow wounds were bad enough, but there were too many other things that didn't. . . It just wasn't right.

That wasn't her job as a doctor. Her job, as a doctor, was to heal. But she was also the sister of a cop, and Kristin's own curiosity was engaged by this strange man with the dark blond hair and haunted green eyes. Haunted. Kristin froze, remembering the look in his eyes just before she was shoved out of the room. He stammered something in a language she couldn't understand, but what caught her attention was the look in his eyes. Terrified, yes, she noticed that immediately, but he also looked haunted.

The girl touched his hand, then his cheek, and murmured, "None of that matters. Who you are. It doesn't matter. But this I promise you. We'll find out what happened to you, who did this to you, why. . .and then they'll pay. I swear it." She would be a doctor when her study was complete, but her sister would find justice for this man. Kristin bent down and kissed his cheek, stroked the unexpectedly-silky hair, then slipped from the room. This man wasn't the only one who needed comfort this night. She couldn't be there to comfort her sister on this night, so she would comfort the ones whom she could reach.

* * *

He drifted. There was no pain here. . .no sorrow. Only darkness. Only peace. The peace of the grave, but peace nonetheless. He fought for so many years, against the shadow of Mordor, against the evil that would destroy all that he loved. For once in his restless life, he had no battle to fight, and that was the point, was it not? That he was no longer alive. He was dead, and beyond pain, beyond fear, beyond despair. Beyond everything except this most blessed peace and silence. 

It was not to last. Against his will, he was being drawn back from the peaceful sensations. Drawn back toward pain so intense, it was a struggle for him to breathe. He didn't want to go back. He wanted to stay here, even if in his soul, he knew he should return and atone for what he had done. He was so very tired. A tender voice murmured_, I know you are, child, and were it possible, I would allow you to rest much longer. But you are needed, sweet boy. You are needed, and you have never been able to turn away when you were needed. Not when you were a child. . .not when you became a man. I have need of you, my brave one. My children have need of you._

He resisted. No one needed him. He failed them all, no matter what Aragorn said. Aragorn had not seen the look in Frodo's eyes when the Ringbearer fled from him. And Merry and Pippin. . .! At least his land, his beloved Gondor, was in good hands with Aragorn, assuming the quest succeeded. The voice repeated, _You are needed, sweet Boromir. You are needed by my daughters. They need your protection, Boromir. They need your skill in battle. They need your honor, your loyalty, your compassion. They need you. They are heroes and champions, my daughters, but in turn, they have need of a hero and a champion themselves._

A hero? A champion? Him? What utter foolishness! When he was needed most, he failed. He failed his people, he failed the Fellowship, he failed. . .he failed Merry and Pippin. But he had only wanted to save his people, to protect his brother and his city. The voice told him, _Of course you did. You were not the only one who was tempted, my Boromir. You were not the only one who desired the Ring. You were exhausted, lonely, and desperate. Easy prey for that evil little Ring. It corrupted others, Boromir, including the Ringbearer. At the last, it was not Frodo of the Shire who destroyed the Ring, but Gollum. Oh, Boromir, do you not see? Yes, you fell. . .but you rose to your feet, and you proved your words, and the worth of Men, to Aragorn. Do not despair, sweet prince._

He wanted to believe her. Her? Yes. Her. Twas a woman's voice. She said then, with a regretful sigh, _But you cannot be convinced. Until you encountered that evil Ring, you never fell. And that is what you cannot forgive in yourself. Very well. You are not ready to listen. Not ready to forgive yourself. Because you cannot forgive yourself, you will forget. You will forget Gondor, Aragorn, your brother, your father and the impossible burden he laid upon your shoulders when he sent you to Imladris. You will forget the Shards of Narsil, the Council of Elrond._

Boromir, son of Denethor, heir to the Stewardship of Gondor, protested. He had no wish to forget! And he was well aware that he sounded like a whining child, but the owner of the voice did not understand his treachery. However, the voice was firm, _You will not remember. This is not an act of punishment, but an act of compassion. Forget, sweet child. Forget, and find in that oblivion the key to the redemption you so desperately desire. The redemption which you've attained in the eyes of all but yourself_. For a moment, Boromir saw a woman's shape, darkness lit by light. . . and then. . .

And then there was nothing once more, leaving Boromir in silence and darkness.


	3. Awakenings

Author's Notes: Here we have chapter two. I have some acknowledgments before I get to the story. I'd like to note, too, that translations for Spanish are at the bottom. Most of it can be figured out from the context, however.

There are actually several members of the Fellowship who are in this chapter. Boromir and three others, with another mentioned. I won't tell you who the others are. Just have to find (and figure) that out for yourself. That said, you'll note that there's some tension in the last section. I have my reasons. . .just trust me.

Acknowledgments for this chapter go out to several friends including Freya, who provided the 'forty year old newborn' line, and for listening while I plotted; to my brother, Catherine, and Susan, for giving me tips about the nature of Boromir's injuries; to Melanie, just because; and Freya's Cave Troll, who helped me figure out what a person from Middle-earth would see as our 'angel of mercy.' And now, on with the story!

Chapter Two

Awakenings

Captain Lydia Anders had a few hard and fast professional rules. These weren't the same rules as being a cop, though maybe being a cop played into it. Rule number one: messing with her people was a distinct no-no. This was everything from targeting her detectives and officers for previous busts (don't do the crime, don't do the time) to trying to goad one of her people into a police brutality charge. The police officers individually bore responsibility for that as well, but she was less than sympathetic to someone who went in with the attitude that pissing off a police officer was a good idea.

Rule number two: messing with her people carried very specific consequences. Especially if it was for the purpose of revenge. She didn't have that problem so much in North Carolina, unless you were talking about some idiot who wrecked their lives with drugs and didn't have the cojones to take responsibility for their screw-ups. Drugs were her primary problem as the police captain here in Campbell. Primary, but not only. However, rule number two was still valid. What people failed to understand was there was a fierce bond between police officers in the department. They depended upon each other, in a way only other officers, firefighters, or soldiers could begin to understand.

Number three? Number three was far less professional, and much more personal. Keep your professional relationships just that, professional. Lydia saw way too many lives and careers because that simple rule was violated. Sure, she understood that it wasn't always possible. Falling in love was damn unpredictable. But she avoided it like the plague. There were way too many other complications in her life. . .especially her mostly-grown daughter, who was in her third year of college up north. Usually, maintaining this rule wasn't a hard thing. Or, at least, it wasn't until she arrived in Campbell, five years earlier. The only personal rule she had that really was tested.

And that was all thanks to the man sitting opposite her this morning, the day after Bethany Lawson's murder. Her usual plan, where this man was concerned, was to limit exposure. Not that it really worked. He needed her to do his job properly, and she relied on his assistance, on his support. This man was good to her department. . .which was good for him. Did she want to smack the man at times? Of course. He was, after all, a man. A damnably attractive one, at that. It came with the territory. But Mayor Thomas Farrell listened, usually, and intervened with the town council when it was necessary.

At the moment, Mayor Farrell was listening intently to the story of Dalton Robeson's capture, only hours after he murdered Bethany Lawson. Most of it, at least. There were things she wouldn't tell him. It was none of his business, that two of her most level-headed people feared they would beat the living hell out of Robeson. Nor was it his business that Bethany's blood was on the clothes of her detectives when they arrested Robeson for the nineteen year old's murder. What mattered was that the two women behaved with honor, made the arrest by the book, and made it much harder for the defense attorney to get his client off on a technicality.

However, Tom had other ideas. Didn't he usually? His bright blue eyes were sharp with concern as he asked softly, "What about the two detectives? Are they all right?" Wh. . .huh? Dammit, she should have seen that coming! Tom gave her a half-smile, adding in his honey-slow drawl, "Lydia, please. . .I know my constituents! I knew poor Bethany. . .I also know the Rafferty girls. My son had a crush on Kristin in high school, so I noticed the resemblance between Bethany and Kristin immediately. I knew this would be hitting both Megan and Elena hard. Megan for obvious reasons, and because if you cut Megan, Elena bleeds. And vice versa."

"They. . .Rafferty admitted to me that. . .I've given them both a week or so off. They were both way overdue, and seeing that poor kid like that. . ." Lydia began, then trailed off, shaking her head. What else could she say? She had known Megan Rafferty and Elena Gutierrez for five years, and the previous night was the first time she saw either of them even close to breaking down. Maybe that should have clued her in. Lydia admitted, "They're strong gals, but everyone has a breaking point."

Tom raised his hands, replying, "I'm not second-guessin' you, Lydia! I'm still tryin' to figure out how those two managed to keep from takin' a swing at that slimeball! How do the others feel about this situation? Not just the crime and the arrest, but you giving those two time off?" Lydia smiled in spite of herself. That was something she liked about this man. He asked questions that people didn't usually think to ask, ones that challenged her. She liked that about him. Then she scolded herself for even thinking such things. She was a professional, dammit!

"Well, there was some grumbling last night among the younger officers. I was actually more worried that some of the older guys would give Rafferty a hard time after they caught her crying in the bathroom, but. . .they didn't. Certainly didn't think any less of her," Lydia replied. After the times she saw patrolmen in New Jersey collapse to their knees, sobbing, after they had to extricate a child from wreckage caused by a drunk, she hoped not. She was on the point of continuing when the phone rang. Fearing that it was the prosecutor's office with bad news, she answered on the first ring, "Anders."

"Captain, this is Elena Gutierrez," she was informed. Lydia relaxed, even as her eyebrows rose. Well. This was unexpected. Tom Farrell frowned at her, and she mouthed, 'Gutierrez.' He nodded. The young detective continued, "I wanted you to know. . .last night, Meg got a call from her sister. Kristin has asked us to go to Raleigh. When she was volunteering at a hospital, a man was brought in." Lydia bit back the obvious question. . .what this had to do with anything. Gutierrez would get to that.

And she did. The junior partner went on to explain exactly why Kristin Rafferty brought this to her older sister's attention. Apparently, this was a very, very strange situation, one that had the Raleigh police completely without leads. As she listened, Lydia understood why. The wounds were consistent with those caused by arrows (and just how in the hell did the resident or intern or whatever know that?). So, of course, unless someone was caught running around Raleigh with a bow and arrow, or a crossbow, there was no way to capture whoever had done it. It was anyone's guess if the pair from Campbell could help, but they certainly couldn't hurt.

The pair were on leave. . .but since they would be away from Campbell and away from the daily reminders of the case, Lydia had no problem with their journey to the capital city. They needed something else to occupy their attention. Being idle always drove the pair insane. Unfortunately, neither woman could handle just sitting around, or indulging in their hobbies, or even visiting the local schoolchildren, something they both loved. The youngsters were extremely curious, and it was all too likely that one would ask a question that neither woman was ready to answer. They knew this. So did she.

They weren't asking permission. . .not exactly. However, they could have been in trouble, since this was. . .in a manner of speaking. . .police business. And they were supposed to be on leave. Technically. Still, they wouldn't be in their own jurisdiction, and the Raleigh police knew they were coming. In fact, they welcomed the offer of help. . .something that might come in handy down the line. For that reason, and others, she appreciated the consideration demonstrated by her two young detectives. The captain answered, "Go to Raleigh, but let me know what you find out. You've got my curiosity up now as well. And Gutierrez, keep an eye on both sisters. Especially now. Clear?"

"You got it, ma'am. Thanks," Gutierrez replied, sounding relieved. The conversation continued for a few more moments, with Gutierrez finally saying that she had to pick up Rafferty, then she hung up. Lydia sat back, to find Tom Farrell staring at her quizzically, and she sighed. How to explain this? She couldn't brush him off. Technically speaking, Rafferty and Gutierrez also worked for him. Technically speaking. Lydia could just hear her daughter in her head, sighing, '_the kiss principle, Mom. . .keep it simple_.' Right. Keep it simple.

She explained, "It's a very long story. Short version. . .Gutierrez and Rafferty are on their way to help the Raleigh police with a very strange situation." Farrell, fortunately, didn't question her further, choosing instead to change the subject to his ideas about bringing more business into the area. More to the point, what complications might result from such a plan. While Campbell was nothing special, the people of this town had their pride. . .and they would not let their home go to seed.

She wasn't entirely sure she liked some of the ideas, but that was the reason for their discussion. Tom Farrell wanted her input, because it was the job of her department to protect the citizens of Campbell. If one of his ideas would put greater stress on her people, then he wanted to know about it. Maybe the idea wouldn't be thrown out, but modified at the least. Sometimes, that was more than anyone could hope for. She said, "Now, tell me again. . .because it doesn't make much sense. I like the idea of turning the old factories in the center of town into shops and such, a la the Inner Harbor in Baltimore or the Cannery in San Francisco, or something similar. But if you don't plan to attract new businesses to Campbell, how exactly do you plan to bring new business here?"

* * *

Well. That was easier than she expected. Elena Gutierrez frowned thoughtfully. Maybe Megan was right about her doing a better job of explaining. Never mind. She had a great deal to accomplish in a relatively short amount of time. The black-haired detective hung up her cell phone and finished drying her hair. She really needed a haircut, as it was beginning to remind her of Medusa's hair. . .or Megan's hair when the weather turned humid. The two took turns of being jealous of each other's hair. Megan was jealous of Elena's hair when it was humid, and Elena was jealous of Megan's hair the rest of the time.

Bah. It wasn't worth doing anything with this morning. _Pull it back into a ponytail and go, lady, you're running behind_! That was exactly what Elena did, too. It would finish drying in her ponytail. . .make it easier to control. She just hoped that Megan remembered the light mousse. Elena's own ran out. Five minutes after finished her conversation with Captain Anders, Elena was in her car, heading over to her best friend and partner's apartment building. She hadn't spoken with Megan this morning, not directly at least. Meg left a message on her answering machine while Elena was in the shower, asking her to pick her up in front of the building at eight thirty. They would get breakfast on the road.

It took fifteen minutes to reach the complex where Megan lived, because of the third shifters heading home from the warehouses on the other side of town. Elena grumbled under her breath a little, but there was no help for it, and they really didn't have a set schedule. As she pulled into the parking lot of the building, the younger detective smiled to see Mrs. Watkins waiting outside with Megan and Nicodemus. The dog stood very close to Megan, as if protecting her. That really wasn't a surprise to her. Nico, like so many dogs, seemed to have a sense when their humans needed comfort. And like many dogs, Nico didn't recognize human concepts of territory. Megan was one of his humans, so her apartment was his territory, too. While he had never been to Elena's apartment (lucky dog), she was one of his humans as well.

The dog's tail began wagging when he saw Elena's red 2000 Saturn pull into the parking lot. The cop laughed softly, remembering the times Nico tried to get into the car with her, once he realized that it was Elena. Her car, too, was his territory, and she was extremely grateful that he didn't mark his territory in the usual way. Unless, of course, it was her tire. . .in which case, she wouldn't worry about it. She pulled up in front of the two women and the dog, and Mrs. Watkins called out, her German accent thickening as it always did when her voice rose above a certain pitch, "Good morning, Elena! I am sending turnovers with you girls! And Nico!"

Huh? What? But. . .? Megan mouthed, '_trust me_.' Ooookay. Just how on earth did Meg expect them to get a dog into the hotel, much less the hospital? Mrs. Watkins continued, "When Megan told me that you would be visiting with Kristin in the city, I called my brudder-in-law. He manages a hotel near the hospital where Kristin volunteers, and he arranged for a room for you, with Nico. He knows I'll feel better if Nico is there to protect you." Megan opened the car door for Nico with a helpless '_what could I do_?' look on her face. Elena just sighed. . .because what else could they do, really? Mrs. Watkins seemed determined to take care of them.

However, even as she pushed the passenger seat forward for Nico, she called, "That's wonderful of you, Mrs. Watkins. . .but won't you need Nico here?" The dog just wagged his tail, as if knowing exactly what they were saying. It wouldn't have surprised Elena if he did. Dogs were amazingly intelligent sometimes. Sometimes, too, they were smarter than humans. As Megan walked around the back of the car to put her own duffel bag and backpack in the trunk, Elena shifted the seat back into place. The slightly older cop slammed the trunk shut, then walked back around to the side of the car, hugging her neighbor before she got into the car.

The old woman replied, "Nein, nein. . .my grandson is visiting from out of town. And you know he's allergic to dogs." Actually, Elena knew no such thing, but she wasn't about to call Johanna Watkins a liar. She knew better than that. Besides, Megan was nodding ever so slightly. Apparently, she knew the younger Watkins, maybe from elementary school. The elderly lady reached in to touch Megan's cheek, then patted Nico's head, speaking to the dog in German. Nico's ears perked up, and his tail wagged even more fiercely. Elena watched in amazement, privately blessing whatever instinct prompted her to put her own bags in the trunk.

"Tell Cal that I said 'hi,' Mrs. Watkins. . .and danke schoen," Megan told the old lady. Elena stuck out her tongue at her partner. _Show-off_! Then she winced when Nico's still-wagging tail hit her in the back of her head. Damn that dog! However, she leaned forward (and away from Nico's tail) to smile at the old woman and waved. She waved back, beaming. She was still waving as Elena pulled away. Megan said softly, "I just hope Cal really is coming."

"That makes two of us. Your pillow is at your feet. Did you get much sleep, amiga?" Elena asked as she reached the street. She checked both ways, before pulling out, with one last check over her shoulder for any traffic coming from the left. By the time she could look at her friend again, Megan was positioning the pillow against the window, and Elena could see the dark circles under her eyes, as well as the redness. Elena would have reached behind her, to see if Nico's fur was wet, but she had to devote her attention to driving. Fortunately, the early morning rush was finished, so she didn't have as much traffic to worry about.

"Enough to function, at least long enough to get us out of town," Megan answered. Elena didn't say anything to that. She knew perfectly well how to get them out of town, and onto one of the many routes into Raleigh, but Megan wasn't ready to go back to sleep. Besides, it really wasn't worth it to argue with a woman who got probably three hours of uninterrupted sleep the night before. Her partner added after a moment, rubbing her hand over her eyes wearily, "Sorry, that didn't come out the way I meant it. I meant. . .oh hell. You wanna get orange juice here in town, or wait a bit?"

"Probably should wait a bit. . .the morning rush hour is over, but I'm betting it still won't be pretty, trying to get into any of the usual spots. That woman is gonna spoil us. Did she go back to her own apartment last night after dropping off Nico?" Elena replied, quietly accepting the proffered olive branch/apology. Megan flashed a weary smile and nodded. Elena murmured, "That surprises me. I honestly thought she would have stayed with you last night." The old German woman bore the nickname of 'Mother Hen Johanna' with an inordinate amount of cheerfulness and pride. Once a week, she came by the station with some sort of baked goods.

"We tried that once. She gets very anxious if she's away from her apartment longer than an hour or two," Meg explained. Why was that? Elena's partner shrugged, admitting, "She's eighty-five, Elena, and every time she forgets something, she's terrified that she's developing Alzheimer's. In the years I've known her, I've never known her to forget to turn off the stove or the iron, or anything else, but she's still afraid. My own grandmother was the same way in the last year of her life. She didn't have Alzheimer's, but every time she forgot anything, it frightened her badly." That made sense.

"So, what about this business with her brud. . .I mean, her brother-in-law and Nico?" Elena asked, catching herself as she almost imitated the older woman's accent. For weal or for woe, she had a gift for picking up accents. That was why when she spent any amount of time with Megan or with most of their fellow cops, she picked up a Southern accent. . .when she was around her parents or her grandmother, she picked up their accent (they emigrated from Ecuador a few years before Elena was born). . .and when she was around the captain, she picked up her accent. (Although, of course, Captain Anders denied she even had an accent.)

"Apparently, her husband's brother manages an extended-stay within a short distance of the hospital. Before she left my apartment last night, she called him. We're being given the family suite, the one they used while Mr. Watkins was hospitalized near the end of his life. Since Nico was a puppy at the time, it's already doggie-compatible," Megan explained. Elena whistled under her breath. Well, that took care of at least one problem. Then again, she should have expected that. Especially where Mrs. Watkins was concerned.

She had to wonder how much time her partner spent trying to get her neighbor to allow her to reimburse her somehow. She had a feeling that it wasn't long at all. Megan wouldn't have been in the mood to argue much the previous night. She asked next, "So what do we do about Nico while we're at the hospital?" That was one of the ways she lulled herself to sleep the previous night. . .she thought about what they would need to do in Raleigh. After she saw their mysterious John Doe's wounds, Elena wanted to have a look at the alley where he was found.

The Raleigh police would have gone over the scene, but sometimes a fresh perspective helped. Megan replied, "We take him with us." That surprised Elena, but her partner explained, "One, the hospital where Kristin volunteers has a dog therapy project. I was thinking that we could negotiate with the hospital using that, to let Nico inside. Two, after we leave the hospital and head to the alley where they found this guy, he could help there. No, he's not a police dog, but he still picks up on things that we miss." Elena blinked. Damn. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who lulled herself to sleep the previous night by figuring out what came next!

"Okay. Good enough. We're just about to the city's limits, so relax. Get some sleep. I'll wake you when we stop for orange juice," Elena told her friend. Megan nodded and rested her head against the pillow. For the next few moments, the only sound in the car was Megan's soft breathing as it evened out. A soft whine drew the driver's attention to the third member of their little party, and she said softly, "I know, boy, I know." She returned her attention to the road, but that didn't stop her from reaching back to stroke the dog's head gently. A quick glance to her right told her that Meg was already sound asleep. Good. Good. They would both need clear heads for what came next. . . whatever that was.

* * *

In the end, she didn't completely wipe out his memory. That would have been counter-productive. After all, if she made him forget everything, he would likely never awaken, and quite possibly even die. That wasn't what she wanted. She wanted him to forget so that he could move forward with his life. Turning Boromir into a forty year old 'newborn' would have made the lives of her champions far difficult. Although, she had to admit. . .he would look most attractive in the swaddling clothes used by modern people. In any event, when next he awoke, he would remember nothing of Gondor, or the Fellowship of the Ring, or the journey to Mordor.

No, this was much better. And, she had to admit, it would encourage Boromir to lean on his fellow champions more. He was raised to be independent, to be a leader of men. . .never to admit a failing or a weakness, for to do so was to invite death. His father was not an evil man. Merely one devastated by the loss of his beloved wife, one with no idea how to raise two young boys alone. Boromir was accustomed to taking care of those around him. He would need to learn to allow others to take care of him. And that was where the amnesia came in. This was not the first time she performed a memory wipe on a would-be champion. But this was the first time it was so terribly necessary. Boromir came from such a different time. . .he first had to know how to live in this world, before he could aid her champions and protect them at the same time.

So the amnesia worked well on many levels. He would still be terrified. . .he would still be horribly, horribly confused. But in some ways, he would be far less frightened and confused than if he remembered his life in Middle-earth. Boromir was, in many ways, a blank slate (to be distinguished from that horrible television show. . .what was that? Oh yes. . ._The Outer Limits_). She couldn't help being excited for him. . .so many new things he would encounter!

Not all of them were good, no. But wasn't that true, no matter what? Some new experiences were good, and some were bad, but still there was a life to be lived. In Boromir's case, a new chance. By now, she was aware of what transpired between the Ring-bearer and theheir to the Stewardship of Gondor. She knew about it, before she found it necessary to wipe Boromir's memory. She also knew that Frodo Baggins' reincarnation would be among the first Boromir would meet in this new time. It was her hope, however, that they would meet before Boromir remembered what happened between them, so long ago.

Well. That had to be determined, and once Boromir awakened, once he was with his fellow champions, her work would be done. At least for the time being. She had other champions, after all. All over the world. That was her job. . .the champions of this time protected the people around them, and her job was to protect the champions, make certain that they could do their jobs. Once Boromir was with his new allies, she would have to step back. Let him find his own way, like a parent letting her son go.

In the meantime, she wanted to see about her other champions. Megan Rafferty was sound asleep, her head nestled against the pillow Elena Gutierrez carried in her car, and a small blanket tucked around her shoulders. Elena was driving in silence broken only by the voice of Jennifer Licko on her compact disc. The entity smiled, remembering exclamations of surprise when people learned that Elena preferred Celtic music. Celtic and classical. Although, there were times when she was certain that Elena did such things to be contrary.

And dear Nicodemus, riding in the back seat, with his head nestled between the two young cops. The entity allowed herself a smile. Nico was a champion in his own right, of course. . .protecting his elderly human from anyone who made the mistake of thinking Johanna Watkins was easy prey. Elderly she may be, in mortal terms, but she was quite formidable when she was young. And still was. Of course, anyone who was foolish enough to attack an elderly woman who had a cop for a neighbor, and Nico for a dog, deserved anything they received. Including a bite in their nether regions.

That hadn't happened yet, but anything was possible and even likely. It need not be Johanna, either. Any of Nico's humans, he would defend to the death. . .his or the assailant's. Elena often lamented the fact that Nico wasn't a police dog, but he was exactly where he was needed. Just as Elena and Megan were. Ever so often, Elena would look over at her sleeping partner, amusement tinged with worry. Though she was younger than Megan, Elena was the oldest child in her family. . .she was accustomed to looking out for her younger siblings. The entity smiled to herself. Twould be quite amusing, truly, now that she thought about it. Of all of her champions, only Kristin would be the least resistant to someone protecting her.

That wasn't entirely true, for Francis and Ailsa Rafferty were just as protective of their elder daughter as they were of their younger. But they were the parents of the girls, and that was what they were supposed to do. The same was true of Elena's parents, Manuel and Soledad Gutierrez. However, Boromir was. . . The entity frowned. Was Boromir eight or nine years older than Megan? Not nearly old enough to be her father or her uncle, yet unlikely to stir sisterly feelings toward him. The same was true of Elena, and for the first time, the entity wondered if placing Boromir in this time would create a rivalry between the two.

Then she looked at the pair once more. Megan, despite Elena's promise, was still sleeping. Poor turnovers. . . they would need to be warmed once the partners reached their temporary home! They would be there shortly. . .perhaps another twenty minutes to travel. Elena said softly, not even bothering to turn down the stereo, "She won't stay angry with me for long, cachorrito. She needs her rest, and it's up to us to make sure she gets it." Nico whined a little, nosing at Elena's arm, and the detective asked, "Did she cry into your fur last night, hmm? I bet she did. You're a good dog, but she needs us both right now."

The young detective exhaled slowly, murmuring, "Dios mio. For a minute, I thought it was Kristin, too. It was so strange, cachorrito. . .it was only when Megan cried out that I realized it wasn't. It's an awful thing to say, but I was actually relieved that it wasn't her. You're the only one I've told, so mind you keep it to yourself, comprendes?" The dog's tail thumped once against the backseat, and Elena laughed, adding, "No wonder people find such comfort in dogs. . .they can talk about anything, without worrying about word getting around."

That was certainly true. Somehow, these animals provided comfort simply by existing. Nico provided comfort and protection, companionship and support. . .all without saying a word. Would Boromir, too, take comfort in Nico? There would be times when he could not turn to his fellow champions, no matter how strong they were or how much he ached. No matter how much they wanted to help him shoulder his burdens. Twould depend upon Johanna Watkins, of course, but the entity had no doubt that Johanna would do what was right.

She would provide comfort to Boromir as well, for she knew well about making bad choices and not seeing through lies. When he remembered his past, if he still found it difficult to forgive himself, Johanna Watkins would be there, would be able to comfort him in ways that her young neighbor and surrogate granddaughter could not. Yes. . .yes, she placed Boromir with the right people. As Elena entered the city limits of Raleigh, the entity found her own comfort in knowing that her Campbell champions would take good care of the Gondorian warrior.

Elena whispered, "Megan. . .Megan, wake up." A sleepy mumble greeted the muted wake-up call. Elena looked to her side, and an evil smile appeared. What was that girl doing? The entity had her answer only a few moments later, as Elena drew to a stop at a red light. Megan's face was turned completely away from Elena. Nico lifted his head as Elena reached over and pulled Megan toward her. She was deeply asleep. . .she had to be, else that movement would have awakened her. Nico, however, was quite pleased. He began licking Megan's face quite insistently to wake her up.

He succeeded somewhat, because she turned back toward the window with a muttered curse, words that a nice young Southern lady such herself shouldn't know. Elena laughed very softly and proceeded to play dirty. . . by tickling her partner awake. Perhaps not such a wise thing to do in a relatively small car, because Megan jolted awake with a squeak, slapping Elena's hands away from her vulnerable side, smacking her head into the window at the same time. The slightly-younger woman dead-panned, wincing at the same time, "Welcome back."

"Where'd I. . .**Elena**! You were supposed to. . .**d'oh**!" Megan vented. Unfortunately, that set Elena to laughing again. Fortunately, at least for her, the light turned green, and Megan was forced to settle down to prevent an accident. Poor child. No matter how distressed she became, her sensible nature re-asserted itself. Though she fumed at the present time, she would soon admit (grudgingly) that she did need her sleep. They would likely heat up the turnovers in the miniature stoves found within the suite they would occupy while they were in Raleigh, and then they would both sleep more. All was well. Twas time for her to check on young Kristin.

* * *

At eleven pm the previous night, Kristin Rafferty left the hospital with an escort. It wasn't anything official, of course. . .just a gentlemanly older doctor who didn't believe in allowing a young woman to walk alone to her car after the sun went down. So much for the idea that chivalry was dead. But why couldn't she find someone like that who was her own age? Dr. Daly was a nice man, one of the nicest she knew. . .but he was also old enough to be her father. Catherine Zeta-Jones, she wasn't.

She mulled over that on the drive home. . .all five minutes of it. Her present roommate was already asleep, so Kristin was careful not to wake her up. Her first class was at ten am this morning, so she could sleep until at least eight. After a quick check to make sure all the doors were locked, and the security system was set, Kristin climbed into bed. Her alarm was set for eight am, but she usually woke up about half hour before her alarm went off. Usually. This morning was the exception. . .maybe because it took her longer than usual to fall asleep. She was still haunted by the mysterious patient from the previous day.

Dr. Daly admitted he was haunted by the young man as well (Dr. Daly was sixty years old, so to him, the mystery man was young), and for the same reason Kristin was. The look of complete and utter terror in his eyes when he woke up for that brief moment. He had some theories about the man's origin, but until they knew more, he wouldn't speculate. Kristin supposed that was one reason she liked him so much. Because he wasn't willing to share his ideas without thinking them through first. Again, why couldn't she find someone like that in her own age group? Or, at least, someone who wasn't old enough to be her father or grandfather?

Further, Dr. Daly was concerned that the man was still unconscious. Aye, he said in his soft Irish accent, they sedated the lad (and wasn't it cute how he called him 'lad'), and he was still badly injured, but it was odd he hadn't awakened yet. As they reached her car, Dr. Daly asked her if her sister agreed to come to Raleigh to check into this, and she admitted that Megan had, and that Elena would be coming with her. She added with a half smile that you rarely saw one without the other, and that if one was cut, the other bled. He smiled and replied that he was looking forward to meeting them both, and in the meantime, she should be careful driving home.

She was careful driving home, and to class the following day. She only had two classes, one at ten and the other at eleven. Once she finished with her final class of the day, Kristin was back in her car, heading for the hospital. Usually, she did her reading and note-taking from the book while she was at the hospital. She had a feeling that wouldn't happen today. Not that she was worried. It was Friday, and she had the weekend to study. She spoke with Megan briefly this morning. They were leaving for Raleigh at eight thirty, and would stop somewhere for beverages. Megan figured that they would reach Raleigh by ten am. However, they would check into the hotel first and get settled (read: get additional sleep), before heading over to the hospital around one in the afternoon. That gave Kristin some time.

Her first stop would be in the hospital snack room, where she would grab a quick lunch, then she would head upstairs to check on her new favorite patient. She wasn't supposed to have favorites, of course, but she did. There was Mr. Petrocelli, who was recovering from appendicitis. He could always make her laugh, while his wife just shook her head and smiled. They, too, heard about the John Doe, and questioned her about him. As Mrs. Petrocelli said, they didn't want to take a nurse or a doctor or a physician's assistant away from someone who actually needed him or her. Once it was established that Kristin knew very little, they turned the conversation to something else that fascinated them. . .Kristin's adoption. As it turned out, their eldest son and his wife were looking into adoption, so, naturally, they were curious.

Kristin didn't know what she could tell them. . .she was ten months old when she arrived in the United States, and became Kristin Drusilla Rafferty. She didn't know her birth name, and it really didn't interest her any more. Sure, she was curious about it when she was a teenager especially. It was, as Megan observed once, part of growing up. Kristin wanted to know where she came from. What were her birth parents like, why did they give her up? Her parents gave her what little information they have, and after extensive research on Korea, Kristin's curiosity eventually burned itself out. She began looking to the future, rather than to the past. As far as she was concerned, her entire life was ahead of her.

After leaving the Petrocellis, Kristin headed next to their John Doe's room. He was still asleep, she discovered, or rather, he remained unconscious. His face seemed much more relaxed now, his arms resting at his sides. Probably for the best. The abdominal wound was likely to hurt badly, and he would be in enough pain when he awakened. She smiled at him gently, even though he couldn't see her, and said softly, "Good morning, kind sir. And it is, too, you know. Very pretty outside. A little warmer than average for North Carolina in the winter, but not hugely so. The sun is shining, and the sky is bright blue. We'll probably get rain later, but that's all right. We need rain."

As a volunteer, she had no duties in terms of the patient's health care. Really, her job was to provide comfort. That was much more difficult with an unconscious man, but Kristin could keep busy. She had a great deal of practice at entertaining herself after Megan went to college. Besides, if she familiarized herself with reading a chart now, that would give her a boost when she started medical school, then her internship, then her residency. She had four years of med school to look forward to, since she really wanted to be a general practitioner.

Return home to Campbell, set up a little practice. . .maybe take over for Dr. Webster, who was the Rafferty family doctor while Megan and Kristin were growing up. Yeah. Yeah, that was a good dream. While she liked Raleigh, Kristin missed her home. She missed her sister and her parents. Her parents. _Crap_. Did Meg call them? Probably not. Her sister tended not to call them when they were out of town, no matter what the reason. Especially in a case like this, when she was so badly rattled and she didn't want to ruin their vacation. It was Francis and Ailsa Rafferty's thirty-fifth anniversary this year, and they were celebrating with a cruise.

That was a gift from Kristin, Megan, and their cousin Gavin. The trio pooled their resources to pay for the month-long cruise. Megan would, more than likely, demand to see the pictures. She always did. And their mother, who once dreamed of becoming a professional photographer, would happily oblige her. Their father would grumble, 'your mother took pictures of everything that moved, and almost everything that didn't.' Their mother would roll her eyes and answer, '_I just wanted to make sure that I covered everything. Sometimes, pictures don't come out, Francis_!'

To which, of course, her father would retort in exasperation, '_it's a digital camera, Ailsa_!' Kristin smiled. In her mind's eye, she could see herself and Megan in the living room of the house where they grew up. Megan would be slouched in her favorite beanbag chair, her head resting against the chair where Kristin was sitting. . .a Cherry Coke nestled in her hands, and a magazine lying face down beside her. And Kristin? Her legs would be tucked under her body, and she'd be wriggling into a comfortable position in the chair, her chin propped up on her fist. The two sisters would exchange amused grins, and wait for the second half of the show to start. The college student smiled again. She looked forward to that reunion. It would be a lot of fun.

Her mind remained on that reunion, even as she read over the changes to his chart. His condition was stable. . .good. That was good. So, when she put down the chart for John Doe, it came as an enormous shock to her to discover that a pair of curious green eyes were staring at her. She barely managed to hold back a gasp. Not only was John Doe awake and alert, but the haunted expression was missing from the man's eyes. Once she regained her composure, she smiled and said, "Good morning. . .er, afternoon. It's good to see you awake."

* * *

The first thing he knew as awareness returned to him was a voice. A woman's voice. How he knew that, he wasn't certain. He just knew. The second thing? He understood not a word she was saying, but he was unconcerned. The voice was gentle and soft, soothing him. So he was content to drift, if only for a while. There was no pressing need for him to do anything, really. It was only when her voice fell silent that his other senses seemed to awaken. He wrinkled his nose at the odd smell. It was rather unpleasant, but nothing that would cause him to be ill. More like. . .irritating.

The smell had one other effect. . .he became curious enough to open his eyes. It was not as easy as one might have thought. His eyelids seemed almost sealed shut, and even when his eyes were open, it was passing difficult to focus them. For the first several moments, his vision was blurry, and it took several blinks before the mist disappeared. But at last, he could focus on the woman. . .only to realize she was hardly more than a girl. A very pretty girl, to be sure, but a girl nonetheless. He would be most surprised if she was more than seventeen or eighteen. Her black hair was gathered awayfrom her face. But it was her eyes that drew his attention. They were dark brown in color, of a fascinating shape, and he knew not how to describe them.

Her eyes were not the only strange thing about her. Her manner of dress was most unusual, and for a moment, he considered the possibility that he was mistaken, and his companion was, in fact, a young lad, for the attire seemed more appropriate for a lad. Twas an odd-looking tunic and equally odd-looking trousers. But no. No, the voice was of a woman's. And her shape was equally womanly. But why would a lass be dressed in such a manner? It was at that moment that she looked at him, and the man thought she would cry out from surprise. But no. . .no, she remained calm. Her smile brightened and she spoke once more. And once more, he understood her not.

However, he remained unconcerned. Something in the back of his mind told him that something was wrong. But. . .he had other concerns at that moment. The lass again said something, and this time, he thought he recognized a word, but the recognition was too short. She frowned now and shook her head. That, he recognized. It was either a gesture of disagreement or confusion. He had said nothing, so it was likely confusion. The girl sat down beside him and pressed her hand to her chest, saying, "Krisssstin." She repeated it, then he understood. She was saying her name! Her name was this 'Krissstin,' and his name was. . .

What was his name? For the first time, fear began to clench at his heart and his gut. He could not remember his name. He looked up at the girl, shaking his head. A terrible mistake, for pain exploded throughout his body. His head, his chest, his shoulder. . .even his belly hurt from the simple act of shaking his head. He moaned, closing his eyes against the pain, and a cool hand settled on his forehead. Was he hot? Was he perhaps burning from fever? Perhaps that was why he could remember nothing, why he hurt so very badly. The girl spoke again, her voice gentle. Perhaps she was telling him that all would be well, but how could that be? He hurt terribly, he could not remember his name, he. . .he could remember nothing!

Now fear choked him, or was that the pain? He could no longer tell. His companion stroked his forehead and his hair tenderly, then there were more voices and more noise. Slowly, the pain began to ease, and he could open his eyes once more. However, he immediately wished that they remained shut. There were far more people in the room. Many of these people wore white. . .long white tunics covering trousers? One or two wore blue smocks and matching trousers. Why did so many women wear trousers? Perhaps twas a custom in this land. He never heard of such a thing, not in. . .

A second, sickening wave of fear washed over him. He could not remember his name. He could not remember from whence he came. Nor could he remember how he came to be here. And he certainly had no idea where 'here' was! This time, panic joined the fear as the strange new people began crowding around him. What were they doing? He looked from one side to another, the strange faces closing in on him from all sides, and his heart began to beat faster. What were they doing, what were they doing to him? He began to feel dizzy. . .so many faces, so many voices, so many hands. The hands brought pain, and the hands brought fear. There was only one voice seemed safe to him.

He looked desperately around for Krissstin, only to find her being drawn away from him by two of the newcomers. She did not seem willing, she. . .was she in danger? The thought filled him with an even greater fear. NO! No, he had to protect her! The man nearly lunged out of the bed, reaching for Krissstin. If he thought the pain from shaking his head was intense, it was nothing compared to the agony that exploded in his body from that movement. He groaned, almost falling out of bed. He was caught and pulled back, and his weak attempts to fight, to protect himself, caused him even more hurt. Was there no escape? Curling into a ball was impossible, he quickly learned. . .the pain in his shoulder was nearly as fierce as the pain in his gut and in his chest. There was no place to go.

"Krissstin," he moaned, almost sobbing as the hands pressed him into the bed. It was an anguished cry for help, a plea for mercy to someone who now seemed to be his savior. One of the other voices repeated the name, only shorter. Through the haze of pain, he heard more of the unfamiliar language that sounded close to his own (whatever that was). Then a gentle hand was holding his, and someone was stroking his hair once more. He recognized her touch immediately, her touch and the sound of her voice, and was comforted. Something pricked his arm and the pain eased. He forced his eyes open, mortified to realize that they were wet with tears, and his rescuer was looking down at him with that sweet smile.

She wiped his tears away with her thumb, with such tenderness that it made him want to weep all over again, and murmured something that sounded very much like 'hush.' His heart began to slow down, and his dizziness began to dissipate. However, the pain took its toll, and he was exhausted. His companion caught his eye, holding his attention. Once his eyes were solely on her, she repeated, pressing her free hand to her chest, "Kristin. Kristin." He pronounced it wrong, then. Or perhaps heard it wrong. It mattered not. Twas a passing strange name, but it suited her. He mouthed it with her as she spoke it a third time, "Kristin." The voices grew quieter. He thought. So many things were uncertain for him right now. Almost against his wishes, his eyes began to drift shut. Almost. He was so tired. He was so, very tired.

Her voice came once more, and he forced his eyes open. She looked afraid, and he tried to focus on her expression. She was afraid. Why was she afraid? Had he harmed her, while he was trying to protect her? Twas not his desire, but. . . His mind went blank, as if a thought was wiped away, leaving only his worry for the fear he saw in her eyes. He looked around, seeking the source of that fear. Then she touched his face, drawing his attention back to her, and he understood, somehow, that she was afraid for him. Not of him. Not of anyone with her. She was afraid for him.

Her fingers were soft against his skin, gliding over his eyelids, encouraging him to close his eyes once more. He didn't fight her, as his exhaustion returned once more. He was so tired. He hurt all over. And he could remember nothing. He relaxed, sighing a little, moaning when the motion caused further pain. He could remember nothing. But Kristin was here, and she would allow no harm to come to him. She came to his side when he cried out for her. She would not leave him. Thus reassured, he slipped back into the welcoming arms of darkness.

* * *

"Someone has crossed lines they should not have. You must investigate this. The Enemy may once again be on the move."

The original occupant of the room didn't look away from the book he was reading, instead choosing to reply, "That covers a great deal of ground, you realize. There are a great many lines to cross, particularly in this time and place. However, I believe you refer to a magickal line." At that, he did raise his head, two sets of blue eyes meeting. The newcomer glared at him, and the reader merely smiled faintly, adding, "I am not the same child you remember from all those eons ago. Do not expect me to be so. It does not become you."

The newcomer harrumphed, snapping, "Does it not concern you? The boundaries between worlds, between the past and the present and the future are tenuous ones indeed." Past and present? Boundaries between worlds? Intrigued now in spite of himself, the reader set his book to one side. Still, he cocked a brow questioningly. He still had little information with which to work. If his help was to be given, he would need to know much more. His visitor added begrudgingly, "Someone, or something, has reached back and brought a member of the Fellowship to this time. I do not know if it is for an ill purpose." A member of the Fellowship of the Ring? His former compatriots? His back straightened as he thought of the friends whom he missed so terribly.

There was only one member of the past Fellowship whose incarnation was not alive. One who was never reborn through the ages, much to the sorrow of the immortal who had known him. Could this be why? Boromir, who died in Aragorn's arms eons ago. . .he was here? Legolas Thranduilion, now called 'Lance Tate' when he traveled in the mortal world, stared at the wizard who guided the Fellowship during that dark time. He asked in a low voice, "Boromir? Boromir is here? Mithrandir. . ."

"I have no answers, Legolas. You have watched over the reincarnations of the others for many years, and we have wondered why Boromir was never reborn. I cannot tell you. . .I fear, Thranduilion, that a dark power has brought Boromir to the present," Gandalf replied. Legolas shook his head angrily, his eyes narrowing. No. He would not accept that! The Maia continued, "Legolas, you must listen to me! Boromir would not willingly serve evil. Never willingly. But you know as well as I do that evil deceives! He would come to this time, knowing nothing of it, and believe he was doing good!"

"You were not there, Gandalf. . .when he died. He fell to the Ring, but he freed himself. Boromir was no fool, and he would not be so trusting a second time!" Legolas retorted. In the beginning, he fiercely resented the young Gondorian, resented him for his attitude toward Aragorn. But as the weeks passed, and Legolas listened to the first-born son of the Steward, he began to understand him. When Boromir was slain, trying to protect Merry and Pippin from the masses of Uruk-hai, when he died in Aragorn's arms, Legolas genuinely grieved.

He grieved even more, when he came to know Boromir's younger brother, Faramir. Through the newly-appointed Steward of Gondor, Legolas came to know another side of Boromir. The loving, laughing, protective older brother. . .the one who was so utterly devoted to a child forgotten in the dark days after the death of their mother. Legolas saw glimpses of that older brother, when Boromir was with Merry and Pippin. Indeed. . .when among the two youngest hobbits, it was then that the true Boromir shone through. And Legolas grieved anew, that he never had a chance to know that Man better.

Perhaps that was why he was so ferociously protective of the Man's memory, through the eons. Over time, too, his friendship with the wizard was tested and strained, sometimes beyond its limits. Until Mithrandir entered this room a few moments earlier, he and the youthful Elf hadn't spoken in nearly three centuries. Legolas knew he had changed. The Fellowship changed him. Seeing the deaths of so many good Men, so many good Elves, so many good beings. . .it changed him. The more time he spent among Men, the more time he came to understand them. And appreciate them.

Gandalf sighed, "Legolas, you misunderstand me. Boromir was a good Man, yes. The Enemy sought to use that goodness, what made him such a good Man. It would do so again. It would use his guilt, his desire to make amends, and it would use it to destroy all that he loved." Legolas made no answer, and the wizard continued, his voice gentling, "Do you not think that I regret, too? Frodo told me, years later, how Boromir tried to comfort him in Lothlorien. He told me, too, that it was Boromir who carried him to safety, after I fell. Out of all of us, the only ones who have no need to regret where Boromir was concerned were Merry and Pippin."

"Gimli," Legolas said quietly, his voice thickening as it always did when he spoke of his dwarf friend. Gandalf looked at him, and Legolas continued, "He and Gimli became friends during our journey. Gimli never forgot that it was Boromir who comforted him in Moria, after we found the tomb of Balin. Nor did he forget that Boromir held him back in a warrior's embrace, after you fell. Odd, do you not think, that tis the so-called traitor of the Fellowship, who provided comfort so often? Not the wizard. Not the elf. Not even the king. . .but the traitor." Gandalf closed his eyes, as if in pain at the bitterness he could hear in the Elf's voice.

"Aragorn honored him, for all of his life. We all honored him for the sacrifice he made. For the victory he won. For the little brother he raised with such love. I do not seek to harm him further. Like you, Legolas, I wish to protect him! I could not protect him from the Ring, a menace he did not fully understand. But if he has been brought in this time because of darkness, I can protect him from that. Will you not protect him with me?" Gandalf asked.

"You assume much, Mithrandir. I sense no evil in the presence that has brought Boromir of Gondor to this time," a new voice said, and Legolas turned his attention to the newcomer. In some ways, she changed not at all. In other ways. . .her eyes were sadder now. Even now, reunited with her beloved daughter Celebrian, the eons had left their mark on Galadriel, Lady of Lothlorien. Time passed much differently for elves, but even here in Valinor (or Atlantis, as the mortals called it, they were aware of the passage of time. Especially when they watched over the reincarnations of the Fellowship.

At her side, as ever, was Celeborn, and standing a little behind them was Haldir. Legolas saw the former MarchWarden, noting his impassive expression. They came to know each other over the centuries. Often, they passed into the modern world as partners, particularly if a member of the reincarnated Fellowship was in trouble. Unfortunately, that happened more and more frequently of late. Amazingly, it was not the reincarnation of Aragorn who was most oft in trouble in recent years. . .rather, it was Frodo's reincarnation. Perhaps they should have expected it. While he found a peace in Valinor in the years before his death, the scars left by the Quest were deep.

The former MarchWarden said now, "Perhaps Boromir of Gondor has been brought to this time because of the threats to other members of the Fellowship." Gandalf frowned at the Elf, who continued patiently, "We all know how deeply you loved Frodo Baggins, and his subsequent reincarnations. But not even you, Mithrandir, can deny his most recent reincarnation has oft found himself. . .as the humans say. . .in hot water. Perhaps Boromir has been brought forth for this reason. He was your friend, Greenleaf, and a valiant Man. But none can deny that he did attempt to take the Ring of Power. Perhaps he was brought here to atone for that."

"He atoned when he sacrificed his life to save two others. How much more would be asked of him?" Legolas asked, angry at what he saw as Haldir's judgment of his friend. The son of Thranduil shook his head, continued, "I doubt not that he has yet to forgive himself. But Frodo forgave him, almost immediately. He understood what the Ring did to him. My Lady Galadriel, you yourself were tempted by the Ring. . .after how many millennia of life? Boromir was but forty years of age! One of the youngest members of the Fellowship!" Something else he came to understand as time passed. . . one of many things.

"Be calm, Greenleaf. . .no insult was meant. But you admit, tis unlikely that he has forgiven himself. All others forgave him long ago, including the Ringbearer. . .nay, especially the Ringbearer. Understanding that he is forgiven is not the same thing as forgiving himself," Galadriel pointed out serenely. She was right. . .he knew she was right, and Legolas exhaled slowly. Galadriel continued, "All that said, Haldir is correct. As is Mithrandir. This transference of Boromir from Middle-earth to Modern Earth is most disquieting. I would know who did such a thing, and why."

Legolas understood that. He had questions of his own. Including. . .was he well? Did he have someone taking care of him? The once-prince of Mirkwood remembered something that Elboron, son of Faramir and Eowyn said to him once. While the others spoke the truth, that Aragorn honored Boromir for all of his days, there was still talk. Elboron sought him out once, when Boromir's nephew was but ten years old, asking what Legolas could tell him of his famous and much-beloved uncle, since they did travel together. After hearing the story, and questioning the details he was given, the boyasked slowly, "Might you answer one more question for me, then? The Fellowship of the Ring was created to destroy the One Ring."

Legolas answered in the affirmative, and the boy continued, "And it was for the protection of Frodo Baggins." Legolas inclined his head, and the eventual Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor observed, "You and King Elessar were long-time friends. . .the periannath had each other. You and Gimli became friends. Did my uncle have no one to look after him? Aye, he was a great warrior, but so is my mother. . .so is my father. Yet, they have each other, they look after each other. Whom did my uncle have?" Legolas stared at the boy. One part of him resented the youngster, for the Fellowship looked after each other. And Boromir oft shut them out. . .or. . . did he?

The boy's awkward questions haunted Legolas. Much about Elboron haunted Legolas. He bore his uncle's name, or a variation thereof, and he looked so much like Boromir, Aragorn sometimes barely caught himself before calling the youngster by his uncle's name. They all did. His eyes were gray, rather than green, but he had his uncle's smile. Elessar commented on it often. All of the Fellowship did, the ones who remained. But no more so than Boromir's 'little ones.' Legolas remembered the first time Merry and Pippin saw Elboron's smile, once he grew to adulthood. He thought they would both weep from the memories.

_Did my uncle have no one to look after him_? The question remained in the Elf's mind through the eons. In each life time, he searched for Boromir's soul. . .but never found him. _Did my uncle have no one to look after him_? More than thirty thousand years after watching the Captain-General die in Aragorn's arms, his torso pierced with arrows, Legolas sensed that the time was coming when he would once more be face to face with his former brother-in-arms. _Did my uncle have no one to look after him_?

The answer would be different this time. Legolas turned to face the others, saying quietly, "So be it. I will prepare my shuttle, and I will leave as soon as we have an idea where Boromir is." _And this time, Elboron_, Legolas vowed quietly, _this time, I will see to it that your uncle has someone to look after him. Whether it is myself, or someone else, he will not be left alone again. I swear by my affection for both your king and your father, I will see this done!_

Translations:

cachorrito: puppy

comprendes: '(Do you) understand?' Familiar form


	4. Life Lessons

Yes, two more chapters! Legolas and Boromir were being difficult, so I had some rearranging to do. Plus, I'm trying to finish the next chapter of my National Treasure fic, and on top of that, I've got several new muses wanting me to tell their story. Yeah. Tell me about it. So, here are chapters three and four!

Chapter Three

Life Lessons

Even without stopping for orange juice, it was still nine-thirty before Elena Gutierrez and Megan Rafferty reached Raleigh, and another fifteen minutes to reach the Extended Stay. A quick glance to her right told Elena that Megan was in danger of going back to sleep (which didn't surprise her at all) when they pulled into the parking lot. Megan's head still rested against the pillow Elena kept in the car, her fingers slipping through Nico's fur as Elena whipped her Saturn into a parking space, and she murmured, "If it was later in the day, I would wonder if the traffic was due to a 'Canes game."

"Too early in the day, and there isn't a game tonight. That was the tail end of rush hour. Too bad we won't have a chance to see a game while we're here," Elena answered as she put the car in 'park.' Megan sat up straight in the passenger seat, quietly handing the CD jewel case to her, and Elena ejected the CD from the player. Megan took back the CD, nestling it inside Elena's hobo purse. The engine was turned off, and Elena popped the trunk. Nico raised his head, making both girls laugh. The younger of the two detectives added, reaching over to pick up her purse, "Yes, puppy, we're here. Just wait a few minutes, and you'll be able to tend to your business. He's got a lot of self-discipline, Meg, have you noticed that?"

"Oh, yes. Mrs. Watkins' son trained him, with some aid from buddies of his on the force. And I wouldn't discount going to a 'Canes game, either. You just never know when an opportunity will come along. Ooooh," Megan gasped as she opened her car door. Elena winced in sympathy at the pops and cracks she heard as Megan gingerly stepped out of the car, then tried not to smile at the muffled curses coming from the other woman. Some of them she recognized, because she taught Megan how to swear in Spanish (which would have probably upset Elena and Megan's respective mothers. . .if they had known). She unlocked the rear passenger door before getting out herself.

Megan began hobbling to the trunk, muttering under her breath. Elena leaned back, ever so slightly, to get a look at her friend's bags. Some things never changed. There was that garish duffel bag Megan often carried with her when they traveled, along with her favorite backpack. Elena shook her head, smiling as she let Nico out. No, some things never changed, but that was all right. You took your stability where you could find it. After Megan removed her bags (which were, of course, closer), she pulled out Elena's bags. By this time, she knew which bags remained in the car (such as the overnight emergency bag), and shut the trunk with a 'thump.' Elena remote-locked the car, then the two detectives and the dog made their way to the entrance. There was still the matter of check-in.

As they walked, Megan said, "You know, speaking of hockey, we could have gone to the Antz game the other week." Elena shrugged. Yeah, they could have gone to the FireAntz game in Fayetteville. . .and why was Meg bringing that up now? Her partner looked somewhat sheepish and added, as if hearing what Elena was thinking, "I'm trying to stay awake, 'Lena. At least until we get inside and we can both collapse. I know how much you hate having to carry me." Elena rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling at the old joke. She was nearly five eight, several inches taller than her partner.

However, she graciously chose not to tease Megan about her diminutive size. . .in part because Megan was quite capable of paying her back while she was asleep. Not something that Elena really wanted to happen. Instead, she answered, "I take it you slept well in the car?" Megan nodded almost absently, running her fingers through Nico's coat once more as he walked between them. Elena noted the gesture, and wondered who it was meant to sooth. . .Megan or Nico? Probably neither. More likely, it was simply a habit. Often while she was stressed or concentrating, Megan would play with her hair. _And right now_, Elena thought with some humor, _mi amiga is focusing on staying awake_.

"Yeah, pretty much. Was that the singer you've been telling me about? The gal from here in North Carolina. . .the music that was playing in the car?" Megan asked. Elena smiled and nodded, pleased that her partner remembered Elena's ravings. At the time, Megan was only barely awake. It pleased her even more than Megan remembered, since it was she who got Elena hooked on Celtic music in the first place, back when they were in high school. Like Kristin and the Ren Faires, it was something Elena had yet to forgive Megan for. The younger cop discovered the hard way just how haunting Celtic music could be. But what really scared Elena was the fact that Megan also got her hooked on bagpipes, of all things!

"One and the same. Kristin asked me to bring the CD with us," Elena replied. Megan flashed her a tired grin, and Elena finally gave voice to the concern that haunted her ever since they reached the Raleigh city limits, asking, "Uh. . .Meg?" Her partner raised her eyebrows in question, and Elena continued, hoping her friend was awake enough to follow her logic, "Does the right hand and the left hand talk in Mrs. Watkins' family?" Megan looked downright confused now, and Elena explained, "I mean, is it likely that we'll get inside and they'll have absolutely no idea whom we are and why we're here, since neither of us made the booking?" It was a little on the awkward side, but it got the meaning across.

"Uhm. . .no, I don't think so. From what Cal was telling me about his great-uncle's place, it seems likely that Mrs. Watkins' brother-in-law, David, would make the arrangements personally," Megan replied. Hmm. Interesting. . .especially the way Megan spoke of Cal. Apparently, the other woman picked up on this, for she added with a faint shrug, "Cal was placed in a private school around the time you were placed in public school. I knew him from the time we were in kindergarten. Had a bit of a crush on him while we were in junior high."

"See, that's what gets me. . .we had middle school. You had junior high school. What, exactly, does that cover?" Elena asked. Megan answered with an exasperated roll of her eyes, and Elena grinned. She always could get a rise out of Megan with that. . . Megan told her early in their friendship that junior high was generally seventh and eighth grades (on the other hand, at Elena's middle school, it was comprised of sixth, seventh, and eighth grades). However, Elena brought it up ever so often, just to aggravate Megan. The most she got any more was an eye-roll. Sometimes an exasperated snort, but the days of baiting her friend were long gone. Except, of course, when it came to men. That was a whole 'nother kettle of fish.

There was no more time for conversation, because they reached the entrance to the Extended Stay, and Megan opened the door for Elena and Nico, drawing a glare from Elena. However, her glare didn't last long. As it turned out, luck was with them. . .not only did the left hand talk to the right hand, but it took all of ten minutes to get checked in and taken to their suite. By the owner of the hotel, no less. There was something to be said for having friends in high places, Elena decided. And he wouldn't hear of being paid. . .Megan looked after his sister-in-law. Having a police officer in the same apartment building relieved the family to no end. That it was a young lady Cal knew while he was attending Campbell Elementary School was icing on the cake, so to speak.

Still, Elena would figure out a way to pay them back, somehow. She didn't want to run the risk of the Campbell police department being hit with a bribe scandal because of this. That was a big thing with the captain. She wanted no scandal to sully Campbell's good name. She wasn't the only one. The three humans and one dog went into the elevator car. Elena winced as Megan moved to the back of the car, though she should have expected it. Her partner was claustrophobic. She was usually fine in elevators. . .as long as it wasn't overly crowded, and she wasn't overly tired. Elena got more emotional and less coherent when she was exhausted. . . Megan's claustrophobia became more pronounced.

There was some small talk in the elevator, mainly between Elena and David Watkins. Questions about how bad the traffic was, and how was his hometown? He expressed sorrow about Bethany Lawson's death. . .he could remember when she was born. She was such a beautiful young girl, and looked just like her mother in so many ways. However, they didn't speak about her for long, and Elena was grateful for that courtesy. She could only handle talking about the late college student for so long, and then. . . Well, it hurt too damn much. The owner apparently understood that, because he changed the subject, wanting to know more about Captain Anders. He heard that Campbell had a new police captain. . .what was she like? Elena told him that Captain Anders showed a lot of respect for the locals, didn't behave like she was somehow superior. That made Mr. Watkins smile, then a polite silence fell.

Once they reached the room, Elena decided, she would tuck her partner in, then take Nico out to do his business. Unpacking could wait. . .poor Nico waited long enough. At the door, the owner told them to contact him if they had any requests, then wished them a wonderful stay. The two detectives assured him that they would do just that, then Elena made a mad dash to the bathroom. Nico wasn't the only one who needed that. At the same time, Megan called Kristin to let her know they arrived safely. Two minutes after that, Megan was curled up in bed, and Elena was leading Nico back to the elevator. One keycard was left with Megan, the other went with Elena. In the elevator car, Elena told the quivering dog, "It won't be much longer, Nico. . .I know, you've had a long drive." She scratched him behind the ears, then stroked his head.

She was exhausted as well, but she couldn't sleep yet. The time it took for Nico to relieve himself and run around a little would be about what she would need to relax after the drive up from Campbell. As they headed out into the pet area, Nico's excitement became obvious. Elena laughed and said, "Go! Do your business. . .have a little fun!" Nico bounded off. It was fenced in, so there was no worry about him running into the street or something. Still, she kept an eye on him as she sat down on a bench, laughing quietly as Nico reveled in the simple joy of running around in the fresh air. She always wanted a dog, and unfortunately, her father was allergic to them.

This wasn't quite the same, but it was close enough. From her perspective, at least, although Nico evidently considered her to be one of his humans. Nico was her not-exactly dog, just like Kristin was her not-exactly sister, now that she thought about it. Elena could send Kristin home when she started getting on her nerves. Not that Kristin got on her nerves, of late. However, that wasn't the case years ago, when Megan and Elena first became close. In fact, Kristin really didn't like Elena in the beginning. . .she saw the newcomer as competition for her big sister's attention and affection. She was. . . how old was she? They were fifteen when they really started becoming close, so Kristin was what, four? That sounded about right.

Four years old, and quite possessive of her big sister. Elena remembered a few times when Megan left the room to retrieve her books, and Kristin would glare at her, hissing, "MY Megan!" Elena was never entirely certain if she should be annoyed by the child's possessive streak, or amused by it. Usually, she didn't have to choose, as Megan never took long to find whatever she was looking for. And as Kristin became accustomed to Elena's presence, she accepted her more readily. By the time Megan and Elena graduated from high school, Kristin had come to see Elena as another big sister. Again, like she said earlier. . .Kristin, she could send home if she became annoying.

Nico pranced back to her. . .that was the only way to describe it. . .and Elena laughed again, rubbing the top of his head. She told the dog as he licked her wrist, "I don't think I want to give you back, puppy. But we do have to go back upstairs, hmm? Make sure Megan's okay?" Her answer was an enthusiastic face-washing, and Elena giggled as she drew away from the excited dog, then rose to her feet. As she headed back, Nico bounded alongside her, clearly pleased to be outside once more. Elena didn't blame him. It wasn't often that she was outside, just to be outside. Usually, it was when she was spending time with her nieces and nephews, who often asked 'Tia Elena' to push them on the swings. . .or something else.

Still laughing, the woman and the dog returned upstairs, to the room where they'd be staying. Or maybe, that should be, the 'suite.' Sleeping quarters? Yeah, that worked. Much to her relief, Megan wasn't having a nightmare. Elena quietly shut the door behind her, smiling as Nico leaped up onto the bed, then nestled beside Meg. She would set up the CD player first, then lay down. If she couldn't talk herself to sleep, she could always listen to music. Or maybe put in one of her Nature CD's. She could always fall asleep to the sound of rain. Megan mumbled something in her sleep, throwing her arm over Nico. The dog raised his head to look at Elena, and the younger cop tried not to grin. If a dog could have a plaintive expression, then that was Nico right now.

She removed her CD player, then placed it carefully on the nightstand on her side of the bed, ensuring the volume wasn't turned up unwittingly when she put it into the duffel bag. Loud music booming through the suite would not be a **good** thing right now. A quick glance through her duffel bag revealed that she only brought one Nature CD. . . the music of the rain. With a satisfied smile, she slipped the CD out of its case and into the player, then lay down beside Nico. The dog snuffled at her hair, and Elena whispered, "Like the smell, do you? Hmm? I do, too. I started using scented shampoo when I was in high school. It drove my younger brother Felipe absolutely insane. . .of course, that was reason enough to continue it."

Especially since he had to share a bathroom with her and the next oldest girl, Elena's younger sister Candelaria. Felipe didn't always pay attention while he was in the shower, and often picked up the wrong shampoo. Fortunately for him, Elena's favorite shampoo smelled of vanilla, which wasn't as effeminate as her current favorite (cinnamon), and had the lovely side effect of drawing girls to him. Still, it annoyed Felipe, who was a year younger than Elena, and like all good older sisters, she took delight in tormenting him. As she told him often, once they grew up, tormenting younger siblings was a right, privilege, and duty of every older sibling.

Felipe, now a lawyer, quickly pointed out to her that she was contradicting herself. . .tormenting a younger sibling could not be both a right and a privilege. Elena responded by sticking her tongue out at him. When she was with her brothers and sisters, there was no such thing as being grown up. . .unless, of course, their children were around. In which case, they had to be grown-ups, but she didn't. It was one of the many wonderful things about being an aunt. Like her not-exactly sister, and her not-exactly dog, Elena could return her nieces and nephews to their respective parents.

With ten grandchildren, Elena's own parents had entirely too much to occupy their attention. . .thus, no pressure was put on her to find a nice young man and settle down. That wouldn't last much longer, now that she was in her thirties. Yes, her biological clock was starting to tick, she had to admit that. . .and she did want children. She just wasn't willing to settle for just anyone. Cruel as it was to admit, it was some consolation to know that Megan was going through the same thing with her parents. Ailsa Rafferty wanted grandchildren (Francis, on the other hand, regarded any potential suitor rather suspiciously. For either daughter). Elena heard Ailsa say that one daughter was thirty-two and the other one was twenty-one, and neither seemed inclined to grant her wish. At least, not at the moment. Kristin was too focused on becoming a doctor, and Megan? That was anyone's guess.

But for now. . .now, the sound of the rain, and her partner's soft breathing, lulled her to sleep. There would be time enough to find a decent, honorable man. . .the kind of man she could count on. Someone like her father, or Francis Rafferty. Someone who was strong enough to support a female police officer, someone who wouldn't feel threatened by a female police detective. There would be time enough to find someone like that for her partner and best friend. For now, they would simply rest. They were on leave, but they still had a lot of work to do.

Well. She didn't want to go through that again! Once their John Doe drifted back to sleep, the shaken Kristin Rafferty found that her legs didn't have the strength to hold her, so she remained in the chair beside her bed. In all the time she worked as a volunteer, in all the time she rode with paramedics on their calls, she never saw anything like that before. Not even during his first awakening did his eyes hold such fear. And what on earth was he doing when he lunged out of bed toward her? Kristin shuddered, remembering the way he reached out to her, almost pleading with her.

A gentle touch to her shoulder reminded the premed student that she wasn't alone. Dr. Daly was still at her side, long after the other doctors and nurses left the room. He ran into the room when John Doe began fighting them, to see how he could help. Kristin whispered, "He looked so scared. Like. . .like he didn't know where he was, or what was happening to him." That was something that still bothered her. The first time he woke up, she could understand that. . .he was barely conscious at the time, really.

But the second time. . .shouldn't he have at least realized that he was in a hospital? Dr. Daly replied, "I think there was more t' it than that, lass." Kristin raised her eyes to look at the doctor, who went on, "I have a feelin' that the lad doesn't speak a word of English." That brought Kristin up short. She thought back through the entire situation, from the moment he woke up. He gave her a blank look while she was talking to him. . .and struggled with the pronunciation of her name. Like he never heard the name 'Kristin' before. And yes, she knew that there were a lot of people in the world who didn't speak English, but again. . .

"Why didn't he realize he was in a hospital, Dr. Daly? I know very small villages don't have hospitals, but. . .it doesn't add up for me. You know? It just doesn't feel right," Kristin replied. Dr. Daly nodded sympathetically, and the girl continued, "He looked so scared. At least when I was around. . .close to him. . .he was calmer. And what was he thinking, lunging out of bed like that? He could have hurt himself a lot worse!" Her voice was rising, as it always did when she was upset or frightened. And when you came right down to it, she supposed that she was both frightened and upset.

"This may sound strange, lass, but I think the lad believed he was protectin' ye," Dr. Daly replied. Huh? The physician explained, "Dr. Andrews was pulling ye back, and ye were tryin' t' get t' John Doe. He may have thought ye were in danger." She never even thought about that, but it made sense! Dr. Daly continued, "And. . .how did he react when ye introduced yerself?" Kristin frowned, her heart rate slowing as she was distracted from the drama that played out only a few minutes earlier. How did he. . .

"He was frightened. He. . .he doesn't remember, does he? He started panicking, started getting frightened when he couldn't tell me his name. Oh, that poor man! No wonder he was so frightened and confused!" Kristin blurted out. It made so much sense now! She couldn't begin to imagine waking up in a strange place, not knowing the language, and not remembering who she was. The doctor's eyes reflected her own compassion for their patient, and Kristin added, "But. . .we found no trace of a trauma to his head. I checked his chart. . .just to get a feel for it, you know, just to get used to it. . .and nothing was said about a head injury."

"There's a lot about the human body that we don't know, lass. Based on what I've been hearin' from the others, our lad here was shot in the chest, shoulder, and abdomen wi' arrows. He lost a lot of blood, and that's a lot of trauma for a body t' handle. Even a young man in such good physical condition as our unknown friend here. There's a lot we don't know about the body, and even more that we don't know about the mind. I'll wager the shootin' was as traumatic for his mind as it was for his body," Dr. Daly answered. Which was something she hadn't thought of, and she was a bit embarrassed about that. The doctor added, "Yer still learnin,' lass, there's no need for ye t' be embarrassed. Ye did well t'day."

"I was afraid for him," Kristin admitted, "I was afraid he would hurt himself, or someone else. When I saw his eyes. . .after I convinced Dr. Andrews that I could help. . .he looked so relieved. He looked. . .he looked happy that I was there. Not so frightened any more, as if I could. . .uhm. . .like I wouldn't let anyone or anything hurt him. No one has ever looked at me like that. I did. . .I mean, I looked at my older sister like that when I was little. You know, I was nine years old before I realized that Megan couldn't protect me all the time?" She didn't like making that admission. But there was something about the situation, and Dr. Daly, which made her want to acknowledge that. Maybe she felt guilty about it.

"A frightening discovery, I know. And I'm sure yer sister was equally frightened when she realized there would be times when she, or yer parents, couldn't protect ye," Dr. Daly answered. For some reason, Kristin never thought about that, and it was another discovery that made her ashamed. When she was nine, she realized there would be times when Megan, or their parents, couldn't protect her. She started trying to make her peace with that knowledge. By the time she was sixteen, she was getting impatient with her sister's continuing attempts to protect her. She wasn't a child any more, after all. But. . .

But one thing had nothing to do with the other. She was Megan's little sister, and one thing Kristin learned from her sister's friendship with Elena. . .you never stopped trying to look after your younger siblings. No matter how old they were, and really, even if they weren't younger than you were. Kristin knew that Elena's younger brother Felipe was just as protective of her as she was of him. It was a hard lesson to learn, in some respects.

"One of the reasons my sister is coming here. . .she's on a leave of absence, I guess you could say. Yesterday, she and her partner, her best friend, they found a girl's body. A college student, someone I kinda knew in school, though not very well. I guess she was home early for the weekend. But. . .she was about my age and. . .she looked like me. She. . .ahm. . .she was tortured, and mutilated. She hadn't been dead long when my sister and Elena found her. And she was still alive. . .when he did those things to her. Elena wouldn't tell me exactly what. But. . .it had to have been bad. My sister was crying. At work. I haven't seen my sister cry in years, Dr. Daly," Kristin said at last. She shook her head, remembering how very young and frightened she felt when she learned that her sister. . .and Elena. . .wept when they found Bethany's body.

"She's a police officer, Kristin. . .but she's still a human bein.' I would imagine, even livin' in a small town like Campbell, that it isn't the first time she's seen somethin' ugly. Perhaps not as ugly as that poor child's death, but there are many forms of ugly. And each time ye do see somethin,' or experience somethin,' that horrific. . .it takes its toll on ye. Yer sister's been a police officer for ten years, or thereabouts?" Dr. Daly asked. When Kristin nodded, he continued, "It was just a matter of time before somethin' breached those walls that protect her. I look forward t' meetin' her."

Kristin smiled weakly, replying, "I think you'll like her and Elena. They're pretty cool." However, that statement brought up another memory. Kristin shook her head, murmuring, "Cool. You know, I remember, one time when I was about sixteen, I was storming around, mad about some 'stupid' rule that I just heard about, and Megan being a cop, she tried to explain the reasoning to me. I thought I was being so cool, so smart when I told her, '_I thought you were cool_.' She looked at me, not even smiling, and said, '_I'm a cop, Kristin. I don't worry about being cool. I worry about keeping my partner, my family, my town, and myself in one piece_.' Boy, did I feel stupid. 'Course, that made me even angrier, and I went off to pout for a while. And she apologized later, for sounding prissy. But I never forgot that."

"Of that, I have no doubt. I remember m' own children at that age. For that matter, I remember m'self at that age. Tell me, how did yer sister get interested in the SCA?" Dr. Daly asked. Kristin looked at him, startled by the change in topic, as well as Dr. Daly's knowledge of the SCA, and the doctor chuckled, "I'm sixty years old, Kristin, I'm not a hundred. I'm familiar wi' the SCA. Never joined, because I had too many other thin's t' do, but I was always intrigued by the notion of such an organization. I was rather pleased when ye had the idea of askin' two former members to help. Thinkin' outside the box, so t' speak. Just be careful wi' the way ye use that characteristic."

"I'm a college student and a volunteer. . .one thing I've learned since I've been here, is just how little I know," Kristin replied. That drew a smile from her companion. She smiled back, and added, "And. . .I guess Megan's always been interested in history. I don't really know what she was like when she was a little kid. She's eleven years older than I am. . .that's something people always get wrong. They assume that she's twelve years older than I am. But she's not. She was twelve years old when Mom and Dad adopted me, but I was ten months old at the time. But Elena. . .since her dad has always been interested in weapons, things developed from that. . . Elena's own interest in historical weapons, and Megan's love for history."

Her eyes strayed to the clock beside their John Doe's bed, and she murmured, "I should have heard from them by now. Dr. Daly, would you mind terribly if I went outside and checked my voice mail messages on my cell?" That was one of the first things she learned, when she started volunteering here. Pagers were acceptable. . .cell phones, however, had a nasty habit of causing havoc with the machines within the hospital. She went outside if she wanted to take any calls. . .or make them, come to that. The physician smiled, and shooed her from the room. She smiled at him gratefully, and took one last glance at their John Doe, hoping that the next time he woke up, he would remember something. For his own sake.

She woke up, little by little, which told her she could afford to do that. If she had to work that day, she woke because of the alarm clock, or because of her internal alarm. Then she remembered why she had been asleep. Very little rest the previous night. Some of it was made up this morning, on the way up from Campbell. Megan Rafferty shifted a little on the bed, realizing that her hand lay on something. . .furry? With a frown, she lifted her head, and remembered why she would be touching something furry. . .Nico. The German Shepherd's tail began thwacking the bed, as soon as Meg raised her head, and it felt like a mini-earthquake.

She pressed a finger to her lips, gently hushing the dog before he could wake Elena. She needed her rest, too, and Megan would see that she would get it. Taking care of each other ran both ways, after all. Nico subsided, laying his head on his paws, and Megan relaxed against the pillows. They weren't going anywhere until she heard back from Kristin, as they needed directions to the hospital, so she was in no hurry to leave the warm cocoon of the blankets and the dog. Under normal circumstances, they would have used MapQuest, but these were hardly ordinary circumstances. She was too busy the previous night (too busy thinking too much, which always got her into a lot of trouble). Neither she nor Elena was familiar enough with Raleigh to know what they were doing in the city. . .Kristin was far more familiar with the capital city.

What could she do in the meantime? Watch tv? Oh, there was a likely idea. . . right now, the only things on were soaps, and the last thing she needed to do was get hooked. There were also the various talk shows, but Jerry Springer and that ilk held absolutely no interest for her. She saw enough insanity in her professional life, why would she watch it on time. So television was strictly out. Read? For once, the idea held no appeal for her, though she brought books with her to read, along with her current project. That brought her to her next option. . .should she work on her latest project? That would require moving. . . besides, she used the posters as a way to focus her mind, in much the same way that Elena used her cross stitch needlepoint to focus her own mind.

The last thing she needed right now was to focus her mind. That was a real good way to end up where she was the previous night, swinging between despair, grief, rage. And guilty. Couldn't forget the guilt. Somehow, she had failed to protect Bethany Lawson. . . No. Not a good idea. Maybe later, after she and Elena saw this mystery patient. All right. No watching tv, no reading, no playing. She supposed she could doze for a while. She was still sleepy. . .but she was afraid that just as soon as her eyes closed and she started drifting off to sleep, Kristin would call. Megan knew she left her cell phone on, and where she could reach it.

Still, laying here wasn't a bad idea. . .wasn't a bad thing. Felt kinda nice, when you came right down to it. She looked at Nico, gently ruffling his coat, then at Elena. That was one of the nice things about being a woman. . .the ability to admire the beauty of another woman without being labeled. Or, maybe she just was secure enough in her (lack of) sexuality that it simply didn't bother her to have such a lovely friend. And Elena was beautiful, with her long black hair, flashing dark eyes, and lithe body. Megan smiled, in spite of herself, remembering the shock she felt when she realized that one of the prettiest girls at Campbell High School wanted to hang around with her. Her. . .little Megan Rafferty, who was special only because her mother and father adopted a Korean orphan when she was twelve!

And that was how she saw herself, at the age of fifteen when Elena finally let down her guard with her. No one special. . .and what did make her special wasn't really Megan, but what her parents did. Reflected glory, for lack of a better phrase. No one special. Just a quiet, hard-working young girl who made slightly above average grades. She wasn't beautiful. She certainly wasn't brilliant. . .not a brain, she would never be valedictorian. She was just Megan, and the hardest thing she ever had to learn was to accept that just being Megan was good enough. It didn't mean that she was to try any less. . .what it came to mean to her, as she got older, was to forgive herself when she didn't reach her goals, when she fell short, when she didn't quite measure up.

It got easier, once she and Elena became friends. . .she began to see things through Elena's eyes. It was hard to recognize herself, because the teenager with the quiet strength and the iron will whom Elena knew bore no resemblance to the stranger within Megan's skin. It took her years to accept that Elena's vision of her was a true one. From Elena, she learned that courage and strength didn't mean not being afraid. It meant going on, in spite of (or because of) that fear. Hard lessons for adults, much less two teenagers. But they learned, and through the challenges and obstacles that came, they clung to each other, their friendship strengthening. Not that it was ever easy. They had their upsets and their arguments, just like everyone else.

Boy, did they have some arguments! Elena, like many others, made the mistake of thinking because Megan was quiet, she was a pushover. At least, in the beginning, she believed that. Unlike others who made that mistake, however, Elena's intent was to protect her new friend. The hardest thing for her was trusting Megan to defend herself. She also tended to underestimate Megan's mischievous streak. Everyone expected Elena to get them into snares, but Megan thought up a few doozies herself, especially as they reached their senior year. The alert partner eased back, smiling affectionately at her sleeping friend. Oh yes. . .there were times when Megan thought entirely too much, and that caused them both trouble.

Elena mumbled in her sleep, but Megan couldn't understand what her partner and friend was saying. It might have been English. . .it might have been Spanish. . .it might have been some combination. The first time she went over to Elena's house, she found it hard to follow the conversations, as Elena and her family would start a sentence in English, switch to Spanish, then back to English. And this would happen repeatedly in a single paragraph. With just a year of Spanish, Megan's own competence in the language was far from that level. And, of course, the Gutierrez family wouldn't realize what they were doing until someone took note of Megan's glazed-over eyes.

Oh yes, those were interesting times! Megan grinned impishly, snuggling down into the bed. What was that Chinese proverb? _May you live in interesting times_? That sounded about right. On the other hand, she could never decide if it was a proverb or a curse. One thing she decided, back when she was a teenager. . . complaining that things were boring was a very **bad** thing. Went right along with thinking too much. Complain about things being boring, and there would be a car wreck out in front of your house. Or your neighbor's house would explode due to a gas leak. Or something equally unpleasant. Or your best friend's grandfather would be shot in a robbery gone horribly, horribly wrong. No.

No, complaining about boredom was a sure way of getting yourself, and the people you loved most, into trouble. Unfortunately, it was a lesson you had to learn for yourself, as Megan was reminded when her attempts to tell Kristin fell on deaf ears. Her younger sister had to learn the hard way what Megan discovered years earlier. To make matters worse, she was at a particularly delicate age, when she was even more of a pain in the ass than usual, demanding to know why Megan (or their parents) didn't warn her about that. So, of course, trying to tell Kristin that they tried to do just that would do absolutely no good.

It was actually a good policy, all around, when it came to personal matters. She would give her opinion, if asked, but volunteering her thoughts to Elena, or Kristin, or Gavin, was a very bad idea. What was bad for her was, each time, and with each person, she had to learn it the hard way. Twenty years ago, when Gavin was dating the Bimbo, there was something she didn't like about her. Nothing she could put her finger on, which made Megan doubt herself all over again. Of course, Gavin was a typical horny nineteen year old, and he wasn't real interested in the opinion of his twelve year old cousin, even if she was like his little sister. Megan accepted that. After all, she was only twelve. . .and Gavin demanded, what did she know? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

At this time, Kristin's adoption was finalized, and it was the considered opinion of Ailsa Rafferty that Megan was simply feeling the stress of the adoption. . .seeing things that weren't really there. Though everyone in the family wanted the adoption, their lives were in upheaval as they prepared for Kristin's arrival. Again, Megan accepted this, and after her conversations with both her mother and Gavin, she kept her uncertainties to herself. Besides, she was entirely too busy, being Kristin's big sister. It was she who chose Kristin's middle name, 'Drusilla,' after watching an old episode of _Wonder Woman_ in late night re-runs. Drusilla was Wonder Woman's little sister, and Megan thought it was a really neat name. So her discomfort with the Bimbo was pushed to the back of her mind for the next few years.

If only she could have stayed there, and Megan's instincts could have remained quiet. However, none of them were that lucky, and for the next several years, the entire family watched as her cousin struggled not just with the woman he married, but also with their son, whom she raised to be as self-centered and thoughtless as she was. She. . . Megan's train of thought was interrupted by the phone. It was probably just as well, since thoughts of the Bimbo always made her cross. Megan grabbed her cell after the first ring, whispering into the receiver, "Rafferty." A quick glance to her left told her that Elena was still asleep, though she shifted uneasily against Nico.

"Hey, sis. . .sorry I didn't call earlier. We had a situation develop. Got a pencil and paper handy? I'll give you directions," Kristin answered in an equally soft voice. Megan sat up properly, reaching for her purse. As she did, Nico sat up, studying her with his large, intelligent eyes. Satisfied that all was well, he lay back down, resting his head on Elena's leg. Megan smiled as she finally reached her purse, and withdrew the pen and pad of paper she kept inside. As she listened to her sister's directions, an idea occurred to her. She smiled to herself, glancing at her partner. Why not? There was a reason why they said payback was a bitch!

She was having the most _incredible_ dream. . .lying on the beach of La Costa del Sol, with Joaquim de Almeida rubbing oil over her body. It was one of those odd dreams, where she knew it was a dream even as she dreamed. That, however, didn't stop her from enjoying it. What wasn't to enjoy? The gorgeous scenery of Spain and an equally gorgeous male. Even if he was a good bit older than she was. Elena adored mature men. She also adored feathers. Feathers? Yes, there it was again. . .someone was tickling her. With a feather.

With that, La Costa del Sol vanished, along with the devastatingly handsome Portuguese actor. _Dammit_! There it came again. . .something tickling the end of her nose. When she opened her eyes, she found her partner and soon to be late best friend smiling down at her impishly. Elena scowled at her, an unpleasant expression which was ruined by the younger cop crossing her eyes. Megan's smile broadened as she said in a voice entirely too innocent to be believed, "Good morning, sunshine. . .did you sleep well?"

"You have exactly one minute to tell me why you woke me up from an utterly fantastic dream about Joaquim de Almeida. . .or I extract revenge, Megan Penelope," Elena threatened, even going so far as to use Megan's hated middle name. However, this time, it didn't work. Megan merely widened her eyes. That was the trouble with these quiet types. . .they were a lot tougher than they looked. However, Elena didn't give up easily and she continued, waggling her fingers, "I mean it, Megan. . .you may be sneakier, but I'm taller than you are. Talk!"

"Joaquim de Almeida? I'm almost sorry I woke you up, then. Almost. No wonder the phone didn't wake you," Megan answered dryly. Phone? Elena let her hands drop into her lap, and her partner went on, "Kristin called just a few minutes ago. . .she gave me directions to the hospital. Figured we should get over there, and do what we came here to do." Even before Megan finished her sentence, however, Elena was throwing the covers back, accidentally covering Nico with the sheets. The dog pawed the covers off his head, whining a little. Elena covered her mouth with her hand, trying very hard not to laugh. Poor dog. . .but he looked so funny!

"Well, in that case, I forgive you. Did you sleep long? I mean, how long have you been awake?" Elena asked, reaching down for her shoes. She paused and turned toward Megan, adding, "Are you all right?" Her partner gave her a half-smile, and Elena continued, "As long as you don't think about it, right?" Megan nodded, her face clouding over, and Elena mentally kicked herself. She should have let it go, and simply been pleased that Megan was feeling normal enough to tease her.

"As long as I don't think about it, I'm fine. But you know me, 'Lena. I think too much. You've brought that to my attention a time or two over the years. If I keep it toward the back of my mind, then I can almost make myself believe that it was just a dream. I know. . .I know, it doesn't do any good. I know, it makes it even worse," Megan replied. Elena shook her head, however. Under normal circumstances, she would have agreed. . .especially since Megan tended to face her problems head-on, even when she should take a step back. Megan thought her greatest character flaws were her tendency to be a perfectionist and her habit of thinking too much. Elena, however, believed that there were times when Megan could benefit from putting her problems aside for a while.

"What I think is, we've both seen something no one should ever have to see. And everyone reacts differently to a trauma. Whether you want to admit it or not, Meg, seeing what he did to that girl, who looks so much like your sister. . .it's traumatizing. It traumatized me, I can only imagine what it did to you. And I swear, if you say something to the effect of, '_the world doesn't stop because of a trauma_,' I will hit you," Elena replied, her voice rising ever so slightly. This time, she was startled by a soft growl from Nico. He was glowering at her, obviously sensing some displeasure toward his human.

"How 'bout if we talk about this later, hmm? Right now, I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to think about it, I don't want to deal with it at all. Right now, all I want to do is go to the hospital, and see my sister, then see what we can do about this John Doe. Now. Do you want the bathroom first, or would you rather finish putting yourself together? Because I really need to get some water, and take care of some business. If you don't mind, we have a small fridge. . .the turnovers we can eat for breakfast tomorrow, or for dessert tonight," Megan suggested, changing the subject.

Elena didn't fight her. Instead, she said, "You go ahead, I went earlier. I'll put the turnovers away, put on my shoes, and unpack a little." And then she really should call her own family. She only told her parents the previous night that she and Megan were going out of town to work on a different case. Her mother responded with, '_vaya con Dios y look after Megan_.'

"Got it. I figure I'll call Mom and Dad's cell phone this evening when we get back to the room. While I'm in the bathroom, do you want to use my cell phone to call Tio Manuel and Tia Soledad?" Megan asked, hobbling toward the bathroom. She was hobbling, Elena realized, because she had one shoe on and one shoe off. She mentally shook her head. Only Megan. Only Megan. The other woman stopped, frowning, then followed Elena's gaze to her feet. There was a mutter of frustration, but she left her feet the way they were.

"No, that's okay, but thanks for the offer. If they see your cell phone number come up on the caller ID, they'll worry that something's wrong," Elena replied. Megan nodded, and continued to hobble into the bathroom. It was highly likely that both of her parents were out. While her father was recently retired, he and her mother were constantly on the go. Her father worked as a volunteer supervisor on job sites for Habitat for Humanity, while her mother was heavily involved in the Church. Papa often joked that it was a good thing he was retired, as he was entirely too busy to work.

It was, in fact, Elena's father who came up with the idea of Megan calling him 'Tio Manuel' and her mother, 'Tia Soledad.' While appreciated the respect shown to them when she called them Señor and Señora Gutierrez,' they were uncomfortable with the formality as the years went by and she became a member of the family. To that end, as a compromise, Elena's father suggested that she call him 'Tio Manuel.' Elena's mother quickly added her support of the idea, insisting that Megan call her, 'Tia Soledad.' Megan already had perfectly good parents, after all, so it would be silly to call them 'Mama y Papa.' The compromise worked out well for everyone, and Elena's parents had been 'Tio' and 'Tia' ever since.

She finished putting on her walking shoes (work shoes. . .there was no way she would wear stilettos or high heels on the job), then reached into her purse for her cell phone. It took her only two minutes to speed-dial her parents' number, discover that she was correct, and leave a message for them, telling them that she and Megan were in Raleigh safely, she loved them, and she would talk to them later. As she finished up her conversation, Megan emerged from the bathroom, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. . .an attempt at controlling her bed-head. Elena observed, "You really should get that cut, you know."

"I know. . .I'll try to get it done while we're here," Megan sighed. It was a conversation they had often. Usually after Megan tried to tame her hair unsuccessfully, and was forced to pull it back into a ponytail, if only to keep it out of her eyes. There was also the matter of looking like a professional while they were on duty, or testifying in court. . .and having frizzy, flyaway hair did not constitute as looking professional. Elena briefly thought about asking her partner if she brought any mousse with her, then decided against it. Megan was the original wash and go girl, and had no skill in using mousse on dry hair. _No, not worth it_.

"Fair 'nuff. Get your shoes on, and I'll finish up in the bathroom," Elena suggested. Her partner nodded and sat down to put on her remaining shoe. Elena started to head into the lavatory, then stopped and turned to face Megan. She asked with a thoughtful frown, "Just out of curiosity, what did you use to wake me up? I know it wasn't a feather, because you don't have one handy." Megan actually looked sheepish.

However, she held up a string. Not just any string, though. . .it was a shoelace. A shoelace from Megan's hiking boots. The reason she had one shoe on and one shoe off. EW! Elena shook her head, muttering, "That's disgusting, Megan Penelope, absolutely disgusting. What, next time you plan on shoving one of your smelly shoes in my face to wake me up?" Oooh, she should have kept her mouth shut! Megan's dark eyes lit up at the suggestion. Wonderful. Now she would do just that! _Dios mio, Elena_, she thought as she closed the door behind her, _when will you think before you speak?_

Her sister and Elena were in Raleigh safely. They were in the city, at their Extended Stay, and they weren't alone. As Kristin Rafferty walked back to John Doe's room, she shook her head. She was very familiar with Johanna Watkins, and thus, she knew entirely too well that one did not tell the elderly German widow 'no.' It simply wasn't done. Still, Kristin didn't enjoy the prospect of telling the necessary authorities that her sister and Elena would be bringing a sixty pound German Shepherd with them to the hospital.

To her great relief, she discovered that while hospital policy usually only allowed service animals in, along with dogs for therapy, they would allow Nicodemus entry, because of the odd nature of John Doe's arrival. To say nothing of the fact that he understood not a word of English. Well. That was pleasant news! She just wished that Megan told her about Nicodemus when she called earlier. . .Kristin would have had more time to plan. On the other hand, this entire visit was sort of out of the blue. So, she wouldn't complain. Not too terribly much, at least. Still, she had to give Megan a little bit of a hard time. Her big sister would worry about her, otherwise.

About half an hour after finishing that conversation, Kristin sat in the hospital lobby, waiting for Megan, Elena, and Nicodemus. She would sign them in as visitors, get them the appropriate badges, then take them up to John Doe's room. Dr. Daly was still there, to the best of her understanding. She just hoped that John didn't assume that she simply abandoned him. He seemed so terribly fragile at the moment. Maybe Nicodemus could help in a way that the humans could not.

Ten minutes after her arrival at the hospital lobby, Kristin saw two familiar figures striding in step toward the doors, a furry, four-legged friend between them. The college student rose to her feet, smiling as the trio entered the hospital, and before anyone had a chance to say a word, Kristin was in her sister's arms. She thought she was prepared for the ferocity of Megan's embrace. She was wrong. . .her sister wasn't ferocious as she held her, she was downright desperate to reassure herself that Kristin was okay, even after speaking to her on the phone. It was as if seeing Kristin brought the memories back all over again.

She should have anticipated that. No matter how fine Megan seemed, how stable and secure, eventually things caught up with her. That was what was happening now. Megan trembled, whispering her name over and over again, and Kristin tightened her own arms around her. Her eyes met Elena's, and the other detective didn't look in the least bit surprised. Perhaps she was expecting this. After a moment, Megan drew away, inhaling shakily, and whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Kristin gave into the urge to shake her sister a little.

"Don't be. Are you okay?" she asked. Megan closed her eyes and nodded, releasing a breath slowly, and Kristin went on, "Elena, what about you? Are you all right, or has taking care of my sister wore you out?" That made Megan's eyes fly open, then she smiled a bit ruefully. Kristin didn't wait for an answer. Instead, keeping her arm around Megan, she led the visitors to the front desk, telling the receptionist, "Paul, this is my older sister, Detective Megan Rafferty, her partner, Detective Elena Gutierrez, and Nicodemus. They're here to help us with the John Doe who arrived yesterday." Paul smiled and pushed the clipboard toward the newcomers.

In short order, they were all checked in, with temporary badges to show they were allowed to be on the hospital grounds. With one last smile at Paul, Kristin led her family to the elevator, still keeping her arm around Megan. She said as the car began its ascent, "I need to brief you both on what's happened. Our John Doe woke up earlier. He was extremely disoriented, and panicked when he was surrounded by a lot of people, so we're keeping non-essential personnel down to a minimum. Dr. Daly is with him right now. . .at least, I left him with Dr. Daly. I don't know much more than what I did yesterday, but I'll tell you what I can."

As they rode, she briefly outlined what happened earlier when John regained consciousness, including his struggle with the doctors and nurses. She concluded as they reached that floor, "Dr. Daly thinks that he doesn't speak English. . .he doesn't seem to understand what's going on. Uhm. I can tell you that he's somewhere between thirty-five and forty years of age. Aside from his injuries, he's in extremely good shape. . .very physically fit. I shouldn't say this, shouldn't even think it, but he's pretty hot." This last sentence was spoken in a low tone as they passed the nurse's station.

Neither her sister nor Elena made any comment, and Kristin led them to the room where John Doe rested, adding, "Oh, and just in case you need a look, his clothes. . .at least, the clothes he arrived in. . .they haven't been taken downstairs to be washed yet. They do need to be cleaned, as they're bloody and sweaty, and that won't be good for his recovery." She peeked inside the room, to find Dr. Daly still sitting at John's side. Kristin pushed the door open and Dr. Daly looked up, smiling as she entered the room with Megan, Elena, and Nico. The student said, "Dr. Daly, hi, I'm back. This is my sister, Detective Megan Rafferty, her partner, Detective Elena Gutierrez, and an unexpected friend. . .Nicodemus."

Dr. Daly smiled in welcome, shaking both Megan and Elena's hands, before kissing their hands, and said, "Tis a pleasure t' meet ye, lassies. And ye as well, sir." This was addressed to Nicodemus, whose tail wagged enthusiastically, and the German Shepherd put his head in the doctor's lap. Dr. Daly smiled, scratching behind the dog's ears. Nicodemus, apparently, thought that was a grand thing, indeed, because he nudged closer to Dr. Daly. It was like Mom always said. . .dogs knew who liked them.

The gesture amused Kristin's unofficial mentor, who continued, "Well, as ye can see, the laddie is awake, once again, and I've taken t' teachin' him some English. He's likely t' forget, once he falls asleep, but this makes a nice start." John was, indeed, awake, his green eyes alert and curious, though he was obviously growing sleepy once more. Dr. Daly gave Nico's head one last pat, then carefully pushed himself to his feet, saying, "If ye will excuse me, I have rounds t' do. . .please, don't hesitate t' call if ye need me. Protect the lassies, Nicodemus." The dog's tail wagged all the more ferociously, and Kristin would have sworn he knew exactly what was said.

Kristin smiled at John once the doctor left and pointed to Megan, saying, "Megan. Sister." John actually nodded and smiled, indicating two small figures with his hand, then two larger ones. Well. It seemed that Dr. Daly wasn't joking when he said that he was teaching John the beginnings of English! But, like the man said, it was anyone's guess if he would remember when he woke up the next time. And. . .wow. Okay, not good. . .noticing his smile was not a good thing at all. Even if he did have the nicest smile she had ever seen, outside the men in her own family. She re-focused her attention on the John Doe, indicating Elena as she said, "Friend."

John frowned this time, and Kristin repeated, pointing first to Megan, then to Elena, "Friend." John's mouth formed the word, 'friend,' and Kristin added, pointing now to herself and Megan, "Sister." She did this twice more, until she saw comprehension dawning in his eyes. Along with comprehension was pleasure, at learning a new word. The same pleasure she felt whenever she came across something new in her own studies. She said, almost to herself, "We really should give you a name, because 'John' just doesn't suit you."

"Michael," Elena said almost inaudibly. Kristin looked at her sister's partner quickly, and Elena repeated, "Michael. The warrior angel, the patron saint of soldiers and police officers." Well, yes, Kristin did know whom Michael was. . .but why Michael? Elena evidently guessed her question, for she shrugged, saying only, "It just feels right." Megan's eyes lit up unexpectedly, giving Kristin hope that her sister would be all right, and Elena scowled at her, adding, "Not a word out of you!" Megan just smiled impishly and she made a 'zipping' gesture across her mouth, then flicked her wrist, as if she was locking something, then threw something only she could see over her shoulder. Oh yes. . .zipping her mouth shut, and throwing away the key. Megan was definitely feeling better. Elena retorted, "Promises, promises!"

"Still, I gotta admit. . .'Michael' does seem to suit him. Have you guys done any blood work on him, or are you waiting before he's a little stronger?" Megan asked. She was looking at him with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. . .the same frustration that Kristin saw reflected in Jo. . .in Michael's eyes. He couldn't understood a word they said, but he knew they were talking about him. Kristin's older sister added, almost to herself, "He really is quite handsome. He'll look even better when he's not so pale."

"He lost a lot of blood, and that weakened him, so they're waiting on that. He's already exhausted and in pain, and none of us want to make things worse for him. Would you like a look at his chart, or would you rather talk to the attending physician? Or maybe to the cops who came in yesterday? I mean, whoever found him in the alley didn't just call an ambulance. . .they also called the local police," Kristin replied.

"We'll take a look at his chart. . .you can fill us in on anything we might question," Megan said, and Kristin handed the clipboard to her. Her sister began reading the chart, with Elena reading over her shoulder. Better Meg than her. . .it drove Kristin absolutely insane when people did that. . .read over her shoulder. On the other hand, Elena was several inches taller than Megan, so Kristin supposed it didn't make that much of a difference. Satisfied that her sister and Elena were all right for the moment, the college student turned her attention back to the man in the bed. Clearly, Dr. Daly was someone he didn't fear, even if he wasn't entirely comfortable with the doctor. Still. . .it was progress.

She studied the patient critically. . .yes, her sister was right. He would look much better once he had some color in his face, and didn't look like death warmed over. However, she smiled at him reassuringly and touched his hair gently. He smiled back, though Kristin was certain he would be asleep before long. He needed his rest. While the doctors were more or less certain he would live, his body suffered terribly. And he would need that rest to heal properly. There were dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept properly in a long time. She wondered if that played a part in his injuries. Exhaustion slowed down a person's reflexes, just as alcohol did.

His eyes were sliding shut, and she whispered, "That's right, Michael. . .go on back to sleep. We'll look after you. No matter who did this, we're here now, and we won't let anything else happen to you." Michael sighed a little, then relaxed back against the pillows. Kristin just hoped she would be able to carry out that promise. He spoke no English, except what they taught him so far, and didn't remember his name. . .given that, how could they find out whom he was, much less who attacked him? _One problem at a time, Kristin Drusilla_, she counseled herself, _one problem at a time_. Megan and Elena were here, so she and Michael no longer had to face this alone.


	5. The Wandering Prince

Author's Note: Just a few things, very briefly. While I don't doubt that certain Elves will seem out of character, even Elves may change after a period of thirty thousand years. Just trust me. . .I have reasons for everything I do. You'll notice, I'm sure, that I'm no longer putting in the section dividers. . .it was just causing too much trouble. Hope the lack doesn't hurt your eyes. . .if so, I'll try something new.

Also, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed chapter two. . .especially those who provided me with corrections. I appreciate it, very much!

Chapter Four

The Wandering Prince

After the meeting with Galadriel, Legolas retreated to the library. It was the only way he was likely to get any privacy, and privacy was something he needed to plan. And to think. Boromir had been brought forward in time. . .to the present. No matter how many times he said the words to himself, it wasn't quite real. And, he supposed, it wouldn't be real until he actually saw Boromir again. How strange. He knew Boromir the least. And yet, of all the Fellowship, it was Boromir whom he missed most as the years went by. Perhaps it was because Boromir was the only member of the Fellowship who wasn't reborn.

Or perhaps, as Gimli suggested on more than one occasion, it was because he, Legolas, didn't know Boromir until after he died. Aye, that was probably the right of it. The Elven prince smiled to himself, thinking of his dear friend Gimli. The dwarf spoke often of their fallen friend in the years leading up to his own death. How he hoped that sometime in the afterlife, he would see Boromir again. . .Boromir and Aragorn both. Legolas never really wondered about a dwarven afterlife. . .what might happen to a dwarf, after death. He did, after Gimli died. He wondered about that, often. And when he found Gimli again, in his reincarnations. . .

Each time he found Gimli, the former dwarf always remembered eventually. He could remember nothing of the time between his lives, after one death and another rebirth. But he could remember that first life, the Nine Walkers, the love and loss, triumph and tragedy. And he could remember meeting Legolas in all of the subsequent lives. The last time the two old friends saw each other was eighty years earlier, right after the First World War (or, as it was known then, the Great War). Gimli's reincarnation in that time, Evan Jones, was eighty years old, a British observer of the American Civil War. Although, he always corrected Legolas when he laughingly called him 'British,' proclaiming proudly that instead, he was Cymru. In some ways, Gimli never changed. . .which was all to the good, as far as Legolas was concerned.

They actually met around 1870. . .after the war, in fact, when Evan Jones returned home to Wales. Legolas was aiding Welsh scholars in the cataloging of their history, in reclaiming their heritage. At the time, he was going by the name 'Leslie Tudor.' Indeed, this was a time when 'Leslie' was not an uncommon name for men. Not like it was today. Jones was a bit confused as to why this young man, Leslie Tudor, was so interested in helping the Welsh reclaim their proud heritage. However, he wouldn't argue with having aid, and instead, turned his attention to their work.

They had known each other for about five years when Evan's memories of being Gimli began to return. Legolas allowed himself a faint smile. Yes, he remembered that day well. . .they encountered a man familiar to them both. Familiar, but not the same. A tall, blond-haired man who, at a distance, closely resembled Boromir. It was not he. . . but the encounter provoked memories in the Welsh scholar. Little by little, the memories returned to him. By the time they completed the project, Evan remembered everything, and lamented saying good-bye once more to his Elven friend. But it was time for Legolas to move on, especially since people noticed how little he aged during this time.

Legolas promised Gimli that they would meet again, sometime before Evan died. He kept that promise, though it was a near thing. The prince was a medic during the Great War. . .and there were times when he feared he would break his promise to Evan. As fate would have it, he almost didn't. Were it not for a young American sergeant named 'Dennison,' Legolas would have died, trying to evacuate the wounded from the battlefield. Richard Dennison. . .Aragorn Elessar, reborn, who saved Legolas, and allowed him to say good-bye to Gimli. Again.

So, here they were now, in the waning months of 2005 according to the Gregorian calendar. Boromir was in this time, transported here by means that confused both Galadriel and Gandalf. And they wanted to make sure that he was not brought here to do evil. Even now, Galadriel was scrying to discover exactly where Boromir was placed. In the meantime, Legolas was making plans. He was going over the last known location of the other remaining members of the Fellowship, and their reincarnated friends. Eowyn, of course, was in Australia. . .a member of ANZAC, if he recalled correctly. Her reincarnation regained her memories while still a teenager, and she met with Legolas several times. If Boromir arrived in Australia, she would find him for Legolas. . . assuming she was still in Australia herself.

Merry, too, remembered his past. As so often happened, he remembered after an encounter with Legolas. The Elf suppressed a rueful smile. He seemed to have that effect on his friends. Merry, in this life, was a baggage screener in Dublin, and he willingly shared any information he had with Legolas. If Boromir was in Ireland, Legolas prayed that Merry would find their old friend. Merry was one of the few people he could trust, without any hesitation, with Boromir's safety. . .reincarnated Fellowship or otherwise. However, he doubted if they would be that fortunate. Which brought him to Pippin's reincarnation. Legolas met the young Scottish musician, who toured the world with his drum and pipe band. Pippin didn't remember his past. . .not yet, at least. There was time, though. . .it usually took a few meetings with Legolas before the memories came back.

The Ringbearer was a troubled college student, Legolas knew by now. That left Eomer, Faramir, Sam, Aragorn and Arwen. Those four were unaccounted for, as yet. Legolas sat back with a frown. . .a frown which deepened when he heard someone else enter the room. The newcomer, however, surprised him when he said, "You know not where he is, Greenleaf. . .how can you prepare for your journey, without that information?" The prince of Mirkwood turned as Haldir entered the room. He wasn't alone. Elrond, formerly of Rivendell, was behind him.

Brilliant. The last Elf Legolas wanted to see right now. Legolas would deal with him later. First, he had to answer Haldir's question, telling the other blond Elf, "I have many mortal contacts, Haldir. You know that. No matter where he is, someone will note his arrival, and inform me." The MarchWarden nodded, and Legolas turned his attention to the Elf behind him. Out of respect for Lady Galadriel and her daughter, Legolas stayed away from the dark-haired Peredhil. Like Gandalf, there was too much bitterness here, and Legolas had no wish to cause further grief to either Lady. They, however, were not here at the moment, and Legolas asked in a mocking voice, "What? No attempts to dissuade me? No attempts to demonstrate how unworthy men are of our attention, of our compassion, my Lord Elrond?" Elrond winced at the bitterness in his voice.

"Shall you never forgive me for that, Greenleaf?" the Lord of Imladris asked. Legolas placed his stylus on the table with great gentleness, then rose to his feet to face the Peredhil. Haldir made to move between them once more, and Legolas was uncertain whom he meant to protect. Aye, he was as furious with Elrond as he was with Gandalf, but he would not soil his hands with the Peredhil's blood. Elrond continued, his voice softening as it often did when he spoke to the MarchWarden, "There is no need, Haldir. Prince Legolas knows we acted in his best interests at the time." Or what they deemed to be his best interests. But that was the whole point, was it not? What _they_ deemed.

Legolas turned away, trying to bring his own rage under control. Thousands of years he lived, yet when he encountered this Elf or Gandalf, it was hard to control his fury. Gandalf backed away. Elrond did not, and in fact, made things worse. At last, he turned back, hissing, "I **do **know this. I also remember that it was you and Mithrandir who tried to prevent me from fulfilling a promise, even when my father supported my decision!" Elrond looked away, though not in shame. Elrond was just as proud as Legolas or Thranduil. Legolas continued in a low, cold voice, "I was nearly ready to forgive Gandalf, did you know that? Aye. Until he treated me as a foolish little elfling who hadn't the sense to know when he was in danger. Then there was you. How did you put it? Ah yes. . ._'Men created this problem. Men can solve it. It has nothing to do with us_.' Indeed, it did not. I never asked you to aid me. . .only to step out of my way."

"It was dangerous, Legolas," Haldir pointed out reasonably. Legolas glared at his partner. He needed no reminders of that! It was dangerous, aye, but it had to be done. Haldir swallowed hard. After a moment, he said, "We did not come here to argue, Legolas. Lord Elrond has an idea." Legolas arched his eyebrows. Well, he would listen, particularly if it meant finding Boromir faster. He didn't know if his long-ago friend was in danger. . .he also didn't know if he was safe. Until Legolas could see the Gondorian in person, he would err on the side of caution.

"Indeed? Well, by all means, let us hear this idea. But know this, Elrond. If you ever attempt to keep me from helping one for whom I care again, the consequences will be swift and devastating," Legolas warned. Perhaps he shouldn't be so angry. In truth, the Elves kept to themselves and did not take part in the affairs of Men. But even now, at his great age, he remained restless. He could not simply remain in the Undying Lands. He felt compelled to travel in the world of Men. Perhaps he was corrupted by his time with mortals, but where he saw a need, he acted. No matter what his father, Elrond, Galadriel, Gandalf, or anyone else said.

Elrond inclined his head and answered, "Of course. Glorfindel and Erestor have told me of a. . .mechanism in the world of Men, similar to the palantiri. It is called the 'internet.' Are you familiar with it?" Legolas nodded. When he traveled in the rest of the world, he often used computers and the internet. Upon his last return to Aman, two years earlier, he brought several computers with him, and began teaching other Elves how to use them. As yet, he and the others had not found a way to link up to the World Wide Web, but some of the most brilliant Elves were working on it. Elrond continued, "Then I propose you leave as soon as you are prepared, and discover what you can."

That actually sounded reasonable. So reasonable, he should have thought of it. Legolas sat back against the table, folding his arms over his chest as he thought about it. His base of operations in the world of Men was in the Pacific Northwest. . .specifically, in the forests surrounding Vancouver, British Columbia. He traveled some time before he found a forest that reminded him of his home. Aye, there was the Black Forest in Germany, but that was far too developed for his liking. Entirely too many tourists. The Pacific Northwest reminded him of Ithilien, especially once he and Faramir finished ridding it of Sauron's remaining forces.

Yes, that could work. He had a computer, and internet access, at his home in the Pacific Northwest. He could do a search on sudden, mysterious appearances. Sometimes, too, newspapers carried pictures. . .not all the time, though. Even so, it would provide a magnificent starting place. Haldir said, "You go nowhere without me, Princeling." Legolas looked up, to find a decidedly mulish expression on his friend's face. The MarchWarden added, "You will need me, Legolas. You have skills in the world of Men that I do not, but you will still need my aid when you do your research. I know what plans you are making. . .and I tell you now, it will be far easier to find Boromir with both of us looking."

That was true enough. Haldir wasn't as adept with computers as Legolas was. The prince replied, "Aye. . .however, you may make phone calls to our allies, those who have regained their memories." And former enemies who were now allies. Haldir made a face. He had little liking for telephones or cellular phones, with the sensitive hearing all Elves had. However, he had even less liking for computers. Legolas went on, trying not to smile, "You may start with Gabriel Wainwright. He is unlikely to shriek in your ear from excitement." Haldir looked more than a little relieved by this. Gabriel Wainwright was in the second category. . .a former enemy who became an ally in this lifetime.

Elrond, however, had little liking for this part of the plan. He asked, "And do you truly believe you can trust a Man who was Grima Wormtongue in his previous life?" Legolas merely glared at the older Elf, though it was not an unreasonable question to ask. In truth, he was not inclined to trust Gabriel, when he first met the mortal nearly twenty years earlier. However, over time, Gabriel won the loyalty of the prince of Mirkwood, and that of Haldir of Lorien. Fortunately, he and Eowyn's reincarnation had not yet crossed paths. Such an encounter would lead to an unfortunate ending.

"Should we judge Gabriel by the misdeeds of his past? Grima Wormtongue betrayed his king and his people, but Gabriel is not the same Man. He truly seeks redemption for the lies and betrayal of his previous life. The Lady of Light will not withhold that opportunity and neither will I!" Haldir said, unexpectedly defending their new ally. Elrond didn't look convinced, and Haldir continued, now growing impatient, "He is what his people call an EMT, a medic! He risks his own life to save the lives of others, my Lord Elrond! He himself admits what he was in times past, and seeks now to atone for those misdeeds!"

"Which makes him the perfect choice," Legolas murmured. _Of course_. He should have seen it sooner! Haldir looked at him, frowning a little, and the prince continued, growing excited, "Haldir, if my friend has been brought forward in time, then the odds are excellent that he's still very badly injured from the ambush. Whoever, whatever, brought Boromir forward in time knows some way of reuniting the body and fea of a person. Who, then, would be the first choice to transport a wounded individual to the hospitals, to the new Houses of Healing?"

"A first-responder, such as Gabriel," Haldir answered, now seeing the logic. Legolas nodded, a smile curving his mouth. The MarchWarden continued, "And even if Lord Boromir is not in Gabriel's home city of Tulsa, he can advise us of the standard procedure for transporting someone so badly wounded. Perhaps we should contact Alexandra as well. . .she is a doctor, after all." Legolas wasn't as certain of that. He couldn't be sure Alexandra was in Australia. He would send 'feelers' out, of course, but for now, Gabriel would be their best resource, given his profession.

"Perhaps once we reach our destination. Haldir, for now, after you pack your belongings, let the Lady know what our plan is. If she has at least a continent in mind, that will help, but not necessary," Legolas told his partner. Haldir nodded, but made no move to leave. The prince went on, more to himself than anyone else, "I will speak with Cirdan, make sure the shuttle is fueled, and ready to go. Haldir, do you think you could be ready by tomorrow morning? I must speak with the wizards, and ensure the pathway is cleared." Thousands of years earlier, after mortals took steps toward civilization once more, Aman sank below the surface of the ocean, giving rise to the legends of Atlantis. What the mortals did not know, however, was that the sinking was deliberate.

Far below the surface of the ocean, Aman was protected from not only the pressure of the ocean, but from even the most sensitive radar of modern technology by a bubble, or to use the mortals' term, a bio-dome. The remaining Istari combined their powers with that of the Valar to maintain that bubble. The bubble could not be opened, as such. . .however, the strength needed to protect the integrity of the protective shield could be redirected to other areas.

Within the shuttle designed and built by Cirdan, Legolas and Haldir could penetrate the shield without causing its collapse. However, until Legolas spoke with the wizards, he did not know the location of that weak spot. Cirdan was still in the process of modifying the computers Legolas brought back. . .once the computers were upgraded to the shipwright's liking, they would be placed within each shuttle for navigational purposes. For now, however, Legolas still relied on the aid of the wizards to guide him toward that weak spot. And unfortunately, that meant dealing with Gandalf. Again.

There was no help for it. He sketched a bow to Elrond, saying, "I thank you for your aid, Lord Peredhil. Now if you will excuse me, I have work that requires my attention. Haldir, will you dine with me tonight? We have more plans to make." His partner nodded, a slight smile appearing at the corners of his mouth. Legolas was amused to see a familiar excitement in his friend's eyes. Lord Elrond bowed in response, still looking troubled. No doubt, he would return to Gandalf with news of this conversation. That was of no matter to him. _Stay strong, my brother_, Legolas thought, _and may the Valar keep you until I may find you_!

This was not his first trip into the mortal world with Legolas. Far from it. While Legolas was no elfling, he was still a prince, and he was still Thranduil's youngest son. It mattered not that Mirkwood. . .Greenwood. . .whatever you wished to call it. . .no longer existed. Legolas was still royalty, and while Thranduil had to accept his son's restless nature, that didn't mean he would allow his son to leave the safety of the Undying Lands without some sort of bodyguard. Legolas was a lethal warrior in his own right, but everyone needed someone to watch their back. Aragorn Elessar was long gone. . .so Haldir of Lorien found himself fulfilling that position.

He minded it not at all. Here in the Undying Lands, it was no longer necessary for him to patrol their borders. There were no orcs to defile his home, no threats of any kind. They were too far below the surface of the ocean for most man-made vessels. And the creatures of the deep stayed far away from the unnatural shield which protected his new home (new, of course, being a relative term). So, being the traveling companion of Legolas Thranduilion was no hardship. . . once Legolas became accustomed to traveling with another Elf, that is. He was one of the Nine Walkers, cherished friend of Gimli, Gloin's son. . .rarely did he travel with other Elves.

Haldir was one of the few who attained that honor, and the only one who traveled with Legolas outside Aman. This voyage would actually be the March Warden's twentieth trip into the world of Men during the last century. Unlike Legolas, Haldir rarely formed attachments with Men. Dr. Alexandra Waring, the reincarnation of Lady Eowyn, was one such individual, as was Gabriel Wainwright.

Keeping Alexandra at arm's length was never an option for Haldir. . .not when she worked so hard to save his life after Helm's Deep. Or rather, ensure that he remained alive. It was young Haleth, son of Hama, who actually saved his life. However, Haldir was badly injured after Haleth killed the Uruk-hai who tried to bury his axe in Haldir's back, and it was Lady Eowyn who cared for him once the women and children were released from the caves after the battle. Haldir smiled now, remembering how he resisted the young shieldmaiden's care in the beginning. Not because he had any wish to die, but because he couldn't remember if Haleth was alive or dead, and the Elf wanted to make sure the boy survived. Haldir had lived nearly five thousand years, while Haleth was no more than thirteen or fourteen years of age.

To Haldir's relief, the boy was quite well. . .Aragorn found the youngster, and kept him close until they were forced to pull back to the Keep. Once Mithrandir arrived with the reinforcements, Aragorn sent Haleth to the caves, to protect the women. Once he was reassured that Haleth yet lived, Haldir submitted himself to the care of the sister-daughter of Theoden King. Through the years, the bond they forged in the days that followed was renewed in each of Eowyn's lives. Some bonds stood the test of time, such as the bond between Legolas and Gimli the dwarf, or Haldir's own friendship with Lady Eowyn. Other bonds. . .

Other bonds were strained to the point of breaking entirely. Two such relationships were the ones between Legolas and Mithrandir, and Legolas and Lord Elrond. The latter was never a particularly close tie, Haldir knew. Legolas respected the Peredhil, as the Lord of the Last Homely House, and as the father of his dear friend Arwen Evenstar, but there was never truly a friendship between the lore master and the youngest prince of Mirkwood. This was not the case with Mithrandir. They were the last two remaining members of the Fellowship, the last of the Nine Walkers, and they were forced to rely upon each other to survive the Quest. Such bonds were not easily broken, and when they were. . .

It took time. . .much time. . .to heal such wounds. In the life of an Elf, three hundred years was the blink of an eye. Not nearly enough time to heal terrible damage to a friendship. Early in the eighteenth century as time was determined now, perhaps thirty years before the American colonies declared their independence, Legolas made his centennial pilgrimage into the world of Men, to find the other members of the Fellowship. Even now, nearly three hundred years later, Haldir still knew not the exact reason for the chasm between Prince Greenleaf and the wizard. In truth, very few did know the entire story, and his Lady was not among them. The MarchWarden knew only that it was devastating, rocking Aman to its very roots, and as a result of that argument, Legolas stayed in the world of Men for the next century.

He came and went often in the decades that followed. Where Mithrandir had been the Grey Wanderer, Legolas became the Wandering Prince. He brought news of the outside world, but he was hardly the only one. Though the time of the Elves was past, some of the most ancient Elves remained interested in the world they left behind. So it was that they learned of a terrible evil brewing, more than seventy years earlier. For the first time since the sinking of Aman, there was discussion about returning to the world of Men. Not just one or two. . .but many. Legolas cared little if anyone joined him. He was absolutely certain that certain members of the Fellowship would need him, and he had no intention of letting them down.

Thranduil was not happy about his son's choice, but after thousands of years, he acknowledged that Legolas was more than capable of taking care of himself. He also admitted that Legolas would do exactly what he wanted to do. . .so the wisest, and most loving, thing for him to do was simply give his son his blessing. Mithrandir and Elrond, however, protested quite vehemently. Mithrandir's reasoning was the same as ever. . .it was not meet for them to interfere. The time of the Elves was over. It was for Men to solve this problem and deal with Adolf Hitler and his allies.

Lord Elrond concurred. However, he had another concern. . .namely, the possibility that a contingent of Elves, sent to aid the Allies against Hitler would draw their attention to Aman. So, an alliance was formed between the two old friends. . .an alliance to prevent Legolas from leaving Aman to aid Men. It failed miserably, even using unfair tactics, and led to a widening of the schism between Legolas and Mithrandir. Lord Elrond did not escape the consequences of his actions, either. Until this afternoon, in the library, too, Legolas had not spoken to Lord Elrond for more than seventy years. He would not lash out at the Half-Elven Lord, but he also would not waste breath on him, as Legolas put it.

Of course, Legolas went to aid the Allies, and at the request of his Lady, Haldir went with him. The horrors of the next twelve years remained with Haldir even now, and would likely never leave him. He and Legolas aided the Resistance, causing the Axis Powers as much trouble as they possibly could. Denmark, Norway, Germany, France. Along the way, they met old friends. . .and old enemies. After the war was over, Haldir went with Legolas on a regular basis. Haldir chose a name for his travels in the mortal world, just as Legolas did. In those rare times when he encountered a descendent of someone he met in previous travels, he introduced himself as his own son, his own grandson.

And now, they were going again, first to Vancouver, British Columbia, where Legolas had his headquarters, and then to parts unknown. Personally, Haldir would prefer some place warmer. . .he supposed it was too much to ask, for them to go south. This time they were going because, as the mortals liked to say, Mithrandir and Lady Galadriel sensed a disturbance in the Force. Haldir had to smile. During his later trips into the modern world, he became fond of movies. He rather enjoyed the _Star Wars_ movies, though Legolas hated them. That was more than fair, however. . . Haldir despised the _James Bond_ movies, which Legolas loved, for some odd reason. He would never understand the tastes of the prince. Never.

On the other hand, he understood well the other Elf's fierce desire to protect his reborn friends. That was why they were leaving in the morning. Mithrandir and Lady Galadriel sensed Boromir of Gondor being brought forward in time, and wanted to make sure that he was not brought to this time to do evil. Legolas wanted to find him to ensure that he was safe, and to. . .ah, what was the mortal word? Yes. . .he wished to reconnect with the Gondorian. Haldir's primary loyalty was to the Lady, and to Lord Celeborn, but the MarchWarden had an immense amount of respect for and loyalty toward Legolas as well. He knew Boromir of Gondor only barely. . .the son of the Steward struggled with a mighty burden. Further, he was deeply uncomfortable in Lothlorien. Haldir needed no one to tell him that. . .he could see it in the Captain-General's haunted eyes.

When Lady Galadriel called Haldir to her earlier, after Legolas declared his desire to find Boromir once more, she made that very observation. And, she admitted, she was partly responsible for that. She spoke to him in his mind, when he was already under great pressure. To make matters worse, he was unaccustomed to such forms of communication. Between the burden placed upon him by his father, Galadriel's whispering in his mind, and the Ring, the strain became too much for the young warrior. Like Boromir, Lady Galadriel was under terrible pressure during the War of the Ring. But they were both free now.

She was free. . .no longer did she need to protect her Wood from the Enemy. Haldir was not present when she threw down the walls of Dol Guldur with the power of her Ring (he was still recovering his strength in Rohan after the battle of Helm's Deep), but his brothers Rumil and Orophin were present. They told him that she was a sight to behold, as beautiful and as terrible as anyone could imagine. It was no longer necessary for her to be so formidable (but formidable she remained). Now, they could focus on other things.

To that end, Haldir was to accompany Legolas to the world of Men. He was to do whatever was necessary to aid the prince. And when they found Boromir, they were to ensure that the Gondorian was not being coerced into doing something opposite to his nature. He was violated in the past, by the Ring of Power (something she doubted he ever truly understood), and by those who sacrificed him for their own ends. . .sacrificed for the Greater Good. And, indeed, that was part of the new mission.

Galadriel, Lady of the Wood, had spoken. . .and it was to Lady Galadriel that Haldir owed his allegiance, his loyalty. None others. Legolas and Haldir were to make certain that he would not be violated again. Not by a Ring of Power, not by those more powerful than himself, and certainly not by whomever drew him into this time. The MarchWarden had no qualms about his newest role. He was an Elf. . .Boromir was a Man. But they were both warriors, both sworn to protect that which was theirs. That gave them common ground, a place to start.

The pain returned in slow increments, drawing him back to consciousness. There was still pain, but it was dulled now. With the pain came memories, of the last time he woke up. Well, at least he had memories this time, even if they were not especially pleasant ones. And rather than focus on those less than pleasant memories, he focused on his surroundings. There were voices once again. He still couldn't understand what was being said, but as he grew more alert, he recognized one of the voices. Kristin. And she sounded. . .sad. Not frightened. But sad, and the curiosity of that discovery prompted him to open his eyes. Just in time to see Kristin leave the room, her long black hair swinging across her shoulders and back.

However, she didn't leave him alone. There was another with him. . .a man. The patient knew not if this was a friend or not, though his instincts told him that Kristin would not leave him with an enemy, someone she did not trust. He trusted his instincts, even if he had no idea from when they came. However, even with his instincts, he studied this new man. Dark hair. Dark eyes. A kind face. The man put his hand on the amnesiac's shoulder, speaking to him in a low, gentle voice, and the patient recognized the compassion in the newcomer's eyes.

Did he understand how it felt. . .to understand nothing, to remember nothing? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But he understood something. Sometimes, that was enough. The patient only wished this man could explain to him what was happening. What, exactly, this place was. Where it was. Why he was here. Well, he was fairly certain it was a house of healing, of some kind, and the pain was a constant reminder that he was injured. However, he still knew not how he came to be here, or what exactly happened to him. So many questions. No answers for him. He closed his eyes, and forced his mind away with an effort.

Once he cleared his mind and re-focused his attention, the man opened his eyes once more and took note of his surroundings. He needed to know as much as he could. There were none of the others this time, he discovered, and something deep inside told him that this man would do him no harm. The sheet was turned down. . .sheet? Yes. Yes, that was right, he was in a bed. But what manner of attire was this? A bed shift, perhaps? Whatever it was, the man opened it, his expression grave. The man in the bed tilted his head, just enough to see down his body, and for the first time, he saw the way he was bandaged.

He suffered injuries to his chest and gut, and to his shoulder as well. While he hurt all over, that was where he wore the most bandaging, and that was the central point of his hurts. But why was he injured? How was he injured? Still no answers, and this time, there was no panic or terror at the thought. Not simply because he feared a return of the pain that engulfed him the first time he discovered he had no answers. No. . .no, there was simply no fear. He felt, instead. . .sleepy. The. . .was he a healer? It seemed so. For now, until he knew differently, he would look upon this kindly man as a healer.

Paying no attention to the confusion of the patient, the healer murmured to himself, pulling the bandaging away from his body. . .first his shoulder, then his chest, then finally his gut. The patient could not help himself. . .he looked down at the wounds, and recoiled. He still could not remember how he was injured, but he was quite certain such injuries should have resulted in death. Yet. . .he lived. And ugly as the wounds were, they seemed to be healing. After each wound, the healer replaced the bandage, gifting him with a gentle smile. He found himself relaxing with this man, not knowing why. He just. . .he just trusted him.

The healer put his hand upon the back of the injured man's skull, in a gentle, even tender, gesture. Did they know each other? No. . .no, he believed not. But he remembered nothing, so how could he be certain? He could not. There were only instincts. . .no facts. No knowledge. The healer said something to him, and the amnesiac frowned. What was he saying? From the tone of voice, he felt certain that a question was being asked of him. But what question? He could understand nothing that was being said.

The healer nodded, looking somber, then said. . .something. A word. And he was pointing toward. . . Ohhhh. Understanding began to dawn for the patient. The healer repeated the word, and this time, the amnesiac repeated it after him, "Tay-bul." The healer meant to teach him his language! The amnesiac remembered nothing of his life, nothing of his name, but that made him no less able to reason. He was, in fact, grateful for anything that gave him a focus. And teaching him the language. . .

It was, perhaps, foolish. In fact, it was probably folly of the greatest order. He was still sleepy, and would likely forget when he fell asleep for any length of time, but he appreciated the gesture. Twas a kind thing to do, and most likely necessary for them both over the next few days. For his part, it was not just because it gave him a way to communicate with his healers, but because it kept his mind off how badly he hurt at the moment. Apparently, he pronounced this new word correctly, for the other man smiled at him.

The man in the bed was startled. . .not by the fact that the healer smiled, but by his own reaction to it. He felt. . .warm inside when he saw the healer's smile. That wasn't all, either. There was something. . .so familiar about that smile. He had seen it before, he was certain of that, but. . .how? Where? When? Never mind all that. The patient shook his head, then winced. Not an especially wise idea. He was giving himself a headache once more, after finally focusing on something other than the pain. The healer next pointed to a stylus sitting on the tay-bul, and said the word. As before, he said it again, and after the second time, the injured man repeated, "Pin-sul."

Once more, he was rewarded with a bright smile. This time, he smiled back, and the healer ruffled his hair. The injured man glared at him. . .or, at least, he tried to. After all, he was hardly a child! But he was entirely too pleased with himself to put much heat into his glare. Besides, the healer's smile and additional laughter was so infectious, he could not stay angry for long. There was also the matter of having the energy to remain angry. . .which he most assuredly did not. After a moment, the healer's smile dimmed a little, and he touched an odd contraption beside the bed, sitting on a tay-bul, saying, "Fone." What was that? What purpose did it have? He never saw such a thing before! And remembering once more how badly he hurt the last time he became upset, the injured man controlled his panic. He was no longer so sleepy.

When the injured man gave only a confused glance to the item in question, the healer picked up a part of the contraption. It seemed to break into at least two pieces, which he found passing strange. Was it similar to a heating iron? The kind which ensured that clothes were smooth, instead of wrinkled? Evidently not. The healer was holding it in the wrong way. . .for one thing, he was holding it up to his ear. Definitely not the way to operate a heating iron. He touched something on the other part of the thing, then said something.

The patient felt his eyes bug out of his head in shock, and cared not at all that he looked utterly ridiculous. Wha. . .? He. . . he spoke into the contraption? What manner of device was this? The loose part was replaced, and the healer looked up at him, repeating, "Fone. Tok on fone." Tok on fone? Did that. . .he was speaking. . . that was what he was doing. Speaking into the device. For what purpose?

It was only seconds later that the room was filled with an infernal ringing noise, and the injured man very nearly leaped from the bed, so great was his shock! The pain that exploded through his body reminded him that this was a very bad idea, and instead, he shrank back against the bed, away from the thing. He eyed it with no little terror, and had absolutely no trouble with showing that fear. The healer, however, displayed no distress. But how could he not? It was so. . .**loud**! That did not seem to stop him from picking up the fone and speaking into it once more, his eyes never leaving the eyes of the man in the bed. The injured amnesiac had no idea what his healer was doing, but obviously, he was missing something of great importance.

After a moment, he replaced the loose portion, still eyeing the injured man thoughtfully. That did not bode well, at all! At last, he smiled gently, pressed his hand to his chest, and said, "Ronan." Ro-nan. Ro-nan was the name of the healer. That was two names which he knew now. Ro-nan and Kristin. The former name was familiar in an odd way. . .quite unlike Kristin. The healer leaned forward and lightly tapped the young man's chest, too light to even be felt, saying, "Jahn." Jahn? Did this healer know his name? But no. Even as hope welled up within him, something inside warned that his name was not 'Jahn.'

He had no idea what it was, but 'Jahn' felt. . .wrong. And the healer touched his lips, then gestured to the patient, and repeated, "Jahn." Touching lips. . .speaking? He would call him 'Jahn,' was that what he meant? Well, it was as a good a name as any, and it would make things easier for him. For both of them. The healer, Ro-nan, and Kristin could hardly be expected to call him 'no name,' after all. Until he remembered his true name, it would suffice. He offered the healer a weary smile, repeating, "Jahn." For now, it would do. The healer smiled back, his eyes dark with sympathy, and the man who would now be called 'Jahn' sighed quietly. He was so tired. He was so very tired.

The lesson in this new language exhausted him, as did the explosion of pain which tore through his body when that infernal noise nigh frightened him out of his bed. He had no compunction whatsoever about admitting it. . .it frightened him. At the same time, it seemed oddly familiar to him. . .as if he knew something like it. A way to communicate over long distances. . .but what would such a device look like? Ro-nan gave him a little nudge backward, indicating he was to lie back and Jahn did just that. He gave another light sigh as he closed his eyes. But just as quickly, he opened his eyes once more and reached out desperately for Ro-nan as something occurred to him. He didn't have the words to ask, not really, but he had a place to start. He asked, "Kristin?"

Ro-nan smiled gently, and patted his wrist reassuringly. He replied, "Fone. Tok on fone. Kristin tok on fone." Kristin was talking on that infernal device? How exactly did one do that? How was it possible for one to speak to another not in the room? What manner of magic allowed it to work? And to whom was she speaking? That was something else. Were these fones common place? Why had he never seen one before? Again, while he remembered not his name, or even from whence he came, he was absolutely certain that he never saw such a thing before in his life. The healer added, "Sister." Now that sounded familiar. He knew not if he was interpreting it correctly, and the healer hesitated, then indicated a tall figure, perhaps his own height. A man?

Yes, because in the next instant, the healer indicated a slightly shorter figure, then moved his hands in a manner understood by any man, regardless of nationality or language, to be that of a woman. Man and woman. . .husband and wife? That seemed likely, given what the other man did next. The next figures indicated were much smaller than the previous two. Children? Not just children, he discovered, but girl children. The healer pointed to one invisible figure, slightly taller than the second, and repeated, "Sister. Kristin. Fone."

Now it made sense. Kristin was communicating with her female sibling, using that infernal machine. He wondered how exactly it worked, and even if he wanted to bother learning how to operate such a thing. He couldn't wrap his mind around it. How, exactly, he wondered once more, did you communicate with another person with such an odd looking device? Jahn sighed and closed his eyes but for a second. That was exhausting. Unfortunately, he was not yet finished. He was already drifting off to sleep once more, but forced his eyes open when he heard something beside him. He had no idea if he would remember any of this when he woke up, and just how many other words in this language did he have to learn?

A foolish question, of course. Jahn had other things to concern him at the moment. For one thing, that rather wicked looking. . .thing. . .in Ro-nan's hand. The healer smiled at him reassuringly as he tapped the. . .was that an odd sort of a blade? It looked in some ways like the needles used for sewing. But. . .Jahn swallowed hard as Ro-nan loomed over him. The healer's touch was gentle, but Jahn still eyed the odd-looking needle with trepidation. Ro-nan gripped his hand, turning his arm upward, then carefully pressed the needle into the fold of his elbow. Jahn recognized that sensation. . . he felt it earlier, when the pain began to ease.

The healer patted his shoulder once more, then touched his fingers lightly to Jahn's eyelids. Jahn sighed quietly, understanding that he was to go back to sleep. That was one thing he could do, without trouble. He wondered what would happen, if he woke up and remembered none of this. Then he realized. . .it mattered not. He would simply learn everything all over again. He remembered not his name, remembered not his home. Perhaps his memory would never return. In the meantime, he was to rest and heal. Worrying about the future would come later, once he had enough information to make those decisions.

He dozed for a time, halfway between the world of sleep and the world of wakefulness. There were no dreams, nothing to disturb him, not even pain. It was a pleasant sensation, and he welcomed it. The pain was held at bay, and he wondered what manner of painkillers they had in this place. It still hurt if he moved the wrong way, but nothing like the blinding agony of before. Twas no matter, he supposed, but it still seemed passing odd.

He at last drifted to sleep, insensible of everything around him. When he next opened his eyes, he found Kristin there once more, along with Ro-nan, and two unfamiliar young women. And with its head stuck in Ro-nan's lap was a quite large hound with brown and golden fur. Jahn blinked at the hound, who actually seemed to smile at him. Jahn smiled back tentatively. As Ro-nan stood up, the hound moved closer to the bed, sniffing at Jahn's face and hair. The patient carefully leaned closer to the hound, then made a face as it began licking at his face. But he couldn't help smiling, feeling as if the hound approved of him in some odd manner.

Ro-nan left the room, leaving Jahn with Kristin and the two newcomers. The hound backed up a little, then jumped onto the bed, to settle at Jahn's feet. The motion caused him a little distress, but nothing as terrible as before. Kristin smiled at Jahn and pointed to the smaller of the two young women, saying, "May-gun. Sis-ter." Ah, now there was a word he recognized! Jahn nodded and smiled, remembering his lesson with Ro-nan earlier. He indicated two small figures with his hand, then two larger ones. Kristin beamed and nodded, then motioned to the taller woman, adding, "Frend."

Jahn frowned, wondering if that was the woman's name or what she was. Kristin repeated, pointing first to May-gun, then to the other woman, "Frend." Jahn's mouth formed the word, and Kristin added, pointing now to herself and May-gun, "Sis-ter." So, May-gun was sibling to Kristin. That part he understood. But the other woman. . .was she part of their family as well? He wouldn't think so, but May-gun looked nothing like Kristin. Perhaps the taller woman was a companion to May-gun? That made sense. As much as anything could right now, at least. So, if 'frend' was another word for companion, what was the name of this 'frend,' how was she called? Perhaps they would explain that to him later. Kristin said something he couldn't comprehend, though he did hear his name, 'Jahn,' in there.

The tall woman said very softly, "My-cal." My-cal? What was that? Was that how she was called? Kristin looked at the other woman quickly, who repeated, "My-cal." Then the rest of her words were incomprehensible to him. This was becoming most annoying, but what could he do? Ask the trio not to speak around him? Not especially likely, because how would he make them understand him? Nay, that was sheer foolishness! And what was May-gun doing? She pressed two fingers together, drew them across her lips, then tilted her wrist, before throwing her hand back down to her side. What manner of gesture was that?

He thought it unlikely that it was an obscene gesture, based on the reaction of Kristin and the other woman. Kristin was actually laughing, while the other woman merely rolled her eyes. Jahn, despite his exhaustion, could not help smiling at her expression. She said something briefly, which made the other two laugh. Then May-gun spoke for the first time, and again, he heard that word, 'my-cal' come from her. What was it? Her expression was far easier for him to interpret. . .her eyes were filled with an odd combination of sympathy and frustration. She was frustrated? How did she imagine he felt?

He immediately chastised himself for being churlish as he was certain that was the reason for the sympathy in her eyes. She understood that he was frustrated, having no way to communicate with them. He only knew very few words of their language. Kristin answered whatever May-gun asked, her eyes never leaving him. He was not certain if that was good or bad. The last time someone looked at him so steadily. . .what? What happened? Again. He could not remember. Why could he not remember? The pain in his head was caused mainly by the dizziness. If he lay still and just moved his head from side to side, it hurt not at all. It made no sense. . .he suffered injuries to his torso only, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he seemed to remember that head wounds could cause such losses of memory. Kristin smiled at him once again, and he wished he could relax and trust in her smile.

Then she handed an item to May-gun, and the tall woman stepped to May-gun's side, peering over her shoulder. He frowned. Was that annoying to her? Apparently not. He cared not, when all was said and done. The questions of the last few minutes, and the newcomers, left him exhausted. He closed his eyes, smiling a little as he felt the hound creep up to his side. His uninjured side, much to his gratitude. He opened his eyes once more to look at the hound, and found Kristin standing over him. She smiled at him once more and reached down to touch his hair. He smiled back, though he was growing more and more sleepy. Perhaps that was why his confusion seemed blunted. He was really too tired to be very confused or even curious.

Aye, he wished to know what they were saying about him, but he hadn't the energy to worry about it. He allowed his eyes to slide shut, but still he heard Kristin's voice. And again, there was that word. . .was it a name? 'My-cal.' Perhaps they decided they would call him by that, instead. He would ask about it the next time he was awake. The hound nosed under his hand, and Jahn. . .or My-cal. . .didn't move further. With this hound keeping watch, no one would dare to harm him, or the young women who looked at him with such compassion.

Well, well, well. . .what was this? Once more, she was in spirit form, for she required such ease in traveling from one location to another. While it was possible for her to take physical form (such as when she placed Boromir in this world), it was often exhausting for her. Powerful, she was, but like all beings, there were limitations. And without a doubt, she preferred her natural form. Which was how, even as she noted the union of her Champions with no small amount of approval, she also realized that she would soon have other trouble, and from a source she should have expected. It was less a failure to anticipate than a failure to recognize how quickly she should expect trouble from other corners.

She would deal with those problems later, however. For the moment, she would update herself about her mortal children. Yes, things were fitting into place quite nicely! The girls were in Raleigh, and wise children that they were, Nicodemus was with them. He would provide comfort and healing to Boromir. . .and anyone else in the hospital, come to that. At the same time, while her sole male champion remembered nothing of his past, he lost none of his ability to analyze a situation. . .to reason his way out of a problem, and comprehend that learning this new language would help him heal, by focusing on something other than the pain. For that alone, she was terribly proud of him. . .so, so very proud of him. His analytical skills was one of the reasons he was the Captain-General of Gondor. It was said by many that Faramir was the scholarly brother, and this was true. . .but Boromir was not a stupid man. Proud, yes. Arrogant, perhaps. Confident, yes. Desperate, most assuredly. But not stupid.

However, while her champions were now together, and Boromir already sought to protect the three girls, there were other problems afoot. Judging that her champions did not currently need her (and if she remained any longer, she ran the risk of them seeing her), she went elsewhere. There was the matter of young Galadriel. . .and Olorin. They sensed her movement. Something she expected, but with the sudden change in plans, it couldn't be helped. She did not fear Galadriel or Olorin. They could do her no harm. Her champions, on the other hand. . . well, that was another story. She had little reason to trust Olorin, or as he was called, 'Gandalf.'

On the following morning, she learned, Legolas and Haldir would leave their underwater home of Aman, and go to Vancouver, British Columbia, to begin their search for Boromir. That quest, she would not hinder. It would be necessary for the members of the Fellowship to meet again eventually. She knew Thranduil well enough to realize that while he was now finding it easier to let his son go, the one-time King was not happy about it. Twas one of the reasons Haldir was accompanying the only immortal of the Three Hunters. But only one of the reasons.

She believed there would come a time when Elves would once more venture forth into the world. Not just Legolas, who needed to re-connect with his old friends in the Fellowship, and not just Haldir, but other Elves who recognized that they were stagnating on Aman. Thirty thousand years was a terribly long time. Even for Elves. And it would be some time before Men had the technology to find Aman. Despite the fears of the Peredhil and the White Wizard, such a day was many years in the future. . .many times many.

Elves would wish to return before that happened. Legolas and Haldir would lead the way, but there would be others. Elladan and Elrohir would be among them. They wished to seek out the reincarnations of their little sister, Arwen, and their young foster brother, Aragorn. Perhaps on their next trip into the modern world, Elladan and Elrohir would accompany Haldir and Legolas for such a venture. She had little doubt that the Peredhil would attempt to talk his sons out of such an enterprise. She had even fewer doubts that he would not succeed. Most likely, he realized that as well. Even so. He would try.

She never knew them personally, but she was familiar with the entire line. She knew of Earendil and Elwing, of Elros and Elrond. She knew of Luthien, of Beren, and on the other side, she knew of Celeborn and Galadriel, of Celebrian. She knew of them all. To one such as her, they were all children. Twas why she kept to herself and her kind, unless her champions needed her. In the beginning, she resented the mortals. . .resented that she was their keeper. Resented even that such a task was given to her, though she could not deny that the punishment fit the crime. She committed terrible deeds herself, and twas necessary for her to atone.

But over time, she grew to love those whom she chose as champions. They were many, throughout history. Warriors, scholars, protectors. . .always protectors. Even if they wielded not a sword, or any other kind of weapon, if they protected others, they were under her protection. She wept over them when they were born, wept for them as they grew and learned, then wept over them again when they died. Many of them died to save others. . .some were priests, some were doctors, some were soldiers.

Some never had the chance to become the champion she envisioned, for they did not live long enough. They died of war, of illness, of famine. Sometimes, even, they died of grief. Some of them died of the darkness that choked Middle-earth before Gollum bit the One Ring from Frodo's hand and inadvertently destroyed the Ring. Or so she learned when she brought Boromir forward in time. She actually paid little attention to Middle-earth in the Third Age. She had other things that worried her. To her, time did not run in a linear fashion. Time, as mortals understood it, did not apply to her.

Indeed, she found it not at all strange that she was focusing on the Black Death sweeping over Europe in the Middle Ages, as well as her champions in the modern world, at the same time her brothers and sisters were fretting over the fate of Middle-earth during the War of the Ring. It was her sister's cries of horror which attracted her attention to Boromir in the first place. It was because of her sister that she watched Boromir's final stand, and it was because of her sister that she realized he would make an excellent addition to her champions in the twenty-first century. Oh yes. She owed much to her dear sister. . .a great deal, indeed!

Unfortunately, her sister could not aid her this time. With her choice to bring Boromir forward in time, twas now her responsibility to deal with any. . .side effects. Not so much with mortals. Many of them were rational beings, and sought rational explanations even for irrational or illogical events. No, the side effects of concern to her came from beings such as Galadriel and Olorin. Twas said not to meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they were subtle and quick to anger. And it was true. All who dealt with the Istar knew this. But. . .Olorin was far more than simply a wizard. Just as she was far more than she seemed. And if that meddlesome wizard thought he could simply interfere with her champions, simply because he knew them not. . .

Well. She would quickly put a stop to that! Interfering in the proposed mission to find Boromir was strictly forbidden. However, as she well knew, there were loopholes to every rule imaginable. There were alwaysmeans around an undesirable conclusion. Legolas and Haldir would be permitted to carry out their mission. She knew enough about both the archer and the MarchWarden to realize that neither meant Boromir harm. Legolas wished only to reunite with his brother-in-arms, while Haldir sought only to protect Legolas. However, they were not the only one involved in this situation. Olorin might profess his desire to protect Boromir this time around, and he might well mean what he said. She would make no such judgment on that. She knew not Olorin's mind.

However, Elven (and Maia) interference with Boromir's recovery, and his new mission in life? That would not be tolerated. She swore that, by the name she was given during the time of the Two Trees, and by the name she chose for this world. She brought Boromir into this world, unasked and unwanted. To allow Galadriel and Olorin to sabotage his chances, no matter how well-meaning, was a betrayal she would not countenance. Thus swore the ancient being who now called herself 'Pelagia.' Thus swore a champion of Champions.


	6. Decisions

And back again! We're actually nearing the end of the first story in this series. . .just a few more chapters to go. I've decided to try something new, after receiving a few requests. Let me know if it works all right. As ever, if you spot something (such as me repeating myself), please don't hesitate to tell me, and I'll fix it as soon as possible. I'm actually working part-time at the moment, so it may take me a little time. And now, without further ado, on with the story!

Chapter Five

Decisions

One of the first things she ever learned as a cop was that it was nothing like what they showed on tv. She rarely fired her sidearm (but she still felt naked without it), and didn't usually chase down suspects. On the other hand, she did spend hours upon hours in uncomfortable positions, sifting through evidence. She learned that she was part of a larger effort, and that her position within this larger effort was no greater and no smaller than anyone else's. Well, there were times when she had to pick up slack, but that was part of being a team in general. A burden shared was a burden halved, as Ailsa Rafferty liked to say. And she learned that the evidence, the facts would lead her to the correct conclusion. At least, it should.

The trouble was, something. . .many somethings. . .didn't add up. However, that was the case from the moment the Campbell detectives learned about the situation. At the moment, Elena Gutierrez and Megan Rafferty were outside the hospital, in the alley where Michael (as Elena now called him) was found. The Raleigh police had cordoned off the area. . . the only people who went within the tape were police officers and forensics specialists. According to their guide, Detective Aubrey, this was how they found the crime scene, once they learned of Michael's discovery. There was still a possibility of evidence tampering, but. . .

But for there to be evidence tampering, there first had to be evidence. And there was none. Zero. Zilch. Upso. Nada. No blood. No indication that he was dragged from a car to the spot where he was discovered. And there was no way a car could have been driven into the alley and his unconscious body deposited. . .it was entirely too narrow. In fact, according to Detective Aubrey, it looked like no one had been there in several weeks. That provoked wide-eyed stares from both Megan and Elena. The elder detective added with a shrug, "Tell me about it. It's almost like someone beamed him down here, except there's no such thing as the Starship Enterprise. . .at least, not yet." Megan grinned, her dark eyes twinkling with amusement, then the smile slipped away upon hearing a snort to her left. Detective Madsen, no doubt.

Detective Aubrey's young partner was a rookie detective who reminded Elena rather powerfully of a female Mike Logan, from _Law and Order_, only without the charm. Like Logan, she had a temper and a mouth to go with it. Both Elena and Megan feared that there would be some territorial marking with the Raleigh police, and there was. . .largely on the part of Detective Madsen. The elder cops all just rolled their eyes, just as the older cops in Campbell did, when the rookies, both detectives and officers, got all prickly. Detective Madsen would bear watching. She evidently hadn't learned yet that this wasn't a competition.

"So, you guys are as lost as we are?" Detective Aubrey asked ruefully as Megan peered at the drawing indicating Michael's body. Elena nodded. Oh, there were other things they could do yet. Megan still wanted Nicodemus to go through the alley. The Raleigh police had dogs as well, but unlike Nico, they didn't have Michael's scent. The senior detective continued, "I'm not sure if I should be worried by that, or relieved. I've been a detective for twenty-five years, and a cop for thirty-five, but this. . .this is downright weird."

"We have a few other ideas. . .my partner mentioned one. We didn't want to bring Nico down with us this time, because he seemed content with Michael. But he does have Michael's scent, and he could point us in the right direction. Also, I want to take a closer look at his clothes. . .the clothes he was wearing when he was found, and see if I can figure out a few things. I hope Kristin didn't tell you that we were some sort of super cops, because of our involvement in the SCA. All we can give you is a different perspective on things," Elena replied with a shrug.

"You got nothing to worry about, Detective. . .when it was suggested to us, the only thing your partner's sister told us was that you were both into Ren Faires, and at that point, it was something we hadn't tried yet. We know that he wasn't dragged into the alley, because a) there is no blood pattern and b) there are no scuff marks on his boots. There's a third problem with him being dragged into the alley. . .he's too damn heavy! It took four people to lift him onto the gurney, according to what the doctors told me. The physical evidence suggests the same thing, but, the perp could have brushed any disturbances away," came the reply.

"Which means, by the same token, that he wasn't carried in. We may have to send the dust and dirt from his clothes and boots to the FBI lab in Charlotte, see what they can tell us. Unless there's an FBI lab here in Raleigh? Anyhow, that's another option open to us. It just. . .none of this adds up, you know? This man seems to appear out of nowhere, very badly injured. He doesn't speak a word of English, can't remember his name. It's weird! And that's something else! Before y'all got here, the doctors went over his charts with us. That man should be dead!" Elena added in a low voice, shaking her head in frustration.

"I know. I know. Based on his coloring and his features, the best we can figure is that he's from somewhere in Europe. More to the point, some remote part of Europe which never left the Middle-Ages. Look at his clothes. . .he really does look like someone who goes to the Ren Faires," Detective Aubrey said. Elena looked at him in askance, and the senior detective added a bit sheepishly, "My son-in-law goes to them, and sometimes shows up at the house beforehand in costume." Ah.

And the detective was right. Michael did indeed appear to be from some area in Europe which never entered the modern era. It was possible. After all, look at the Amish. It just wasn't that likely. Europe was a relatively small continent, with a rather large population. Given his blond hair, fair complexion, and green eyes, she would have placed odds on northern Italy, Switzerland, northern Germany, or the Scandinavian countries. Possibly the northern areas of Russia. But the chance of their vic coming from such a remote part of Europe was small. Not impossible, of course. . .almost nothing was impossible. It was, however, improbable.

There was some cause to hope, however. Though the arrows were drawn from his body, there were some slivers of wood remaining, which were carefully removed while he was in the hospital. They were trying to determine what kind of wood. . .find out what tree it came from, where those trees were usually located, and they had a better chance of discovering where the man came from, along with the dust and dirt from his clothes and from his boots. Detective Aubrey said, his eyes twinkling, "You know, we do have a crime lab ourselves. . . we don't have to involve the FBI yet. The SBI, possibly. . .but not the FBI."

Elena ducked her head, saying, "Sorry. Had a minor flashback to the anthrax scares a few years ago." Detective Aubrey cocked his head to one side questioningly, and Elena explained, "One of the local businesses found a suspicious substance while bringing the morning papers in, so we shut it down and called in the big dogs. It turned out to be nothing, but when they sent it away for testing, they sent it to the FBI lab. I just can't remember which one." Detective Aubrey grimaced and nodded at the memory.

"No need to apologize, young'un. This is turning into something more than you expected, isn't it?" he asked. Elena sighed a little in exasperation. Somewhat, but she really didn't know what to expect when she arrived here with Megan. Oh, and she still had to call the captain to let her know what was going on. However, that could wait a little longer. She re-focused her attention, keeping one eye on her partner. Meg could take care of herself, but it looked like Detective Madsen might cause trouble.

"Yeah, you could say that. Okay. Let's forget about what we don't know, and focus on what we do. I don't think it's likely. . .I don't think his injuries are the result of an accident. I mean, three arrows say 'deliberate' pretty clearly. When we were active in the SCA, the weapons masters were very safety-conscious. They've become even more so, I would imagine. With people being sue-happy, they have to be," Elena answered. Detective Madsen moved closer to Megan, once more in danger of invading the other detective's space. _This should be interesting_. Meg rose to her feet quickly, forcing the younger woman to back off, and said something quietly to Madsen. She smiled faintly, then moved away. Madsen didn't follow.

"Huh. I don't know what she just said, but it obviously worked. And yeah, I agree with you. Being shot in the chest and the belly with a gun can be lethal. . .I don't imagine it's any different with an arrow. Someone wanted to kill that man," Detective Aubrey stated. Elena shook her head. No. No, it wasn't any different with an arrow. In fact, in some ways, it was more dangerous. There was still the matter of removing the arrow. Aubrey added in annoyance as Madsen returned to her previous mischief, "That girl's cruisin' and I won't step in!"

"Your Detective Madsen made a common mistake. She figured because Meg was the quiet one, she'd be easy-pickings. And. . .you know, I just thought of something. He should have died from the blood loss alone, never mind the trauma to his body caused by the arrows. There was blood on his tunic. . .a lot of blood. The doctors are running tests on his blood, trying to figure out what his blood type is. Why would it take so long? I mean, yeah, I understand that it's necessary to make sure they've got the right kind, to make sure his body doesn't reject it, but. . . It's just weird," Elena said. She was painfully aware that she kept saying that, but it was true. It was another weird factor of this entire situation. . .one of many.

"They probably know the basic type, but he may have oddities, and they just want to make sure they have all bases covered. I'm glad you brought that up, though. You would think, with those wounds and the amount of blood he must have lost, your John Doe would have needed a transfusion. He's still damn pale, but according to the last report I had from his doctors, he won't need that transfusion. It seems like the more we learn about him, the more questions we have," Detective Aubrey replied. Elena nodded, rubbing her forehead. _Ye-up_. And this was starting to give her a headache, too.

Her partner moved silently to her side, murmuring, "Let's go back inside, 'Lena. You need an aspirin and some water. We've done all we can here for now. I'll come back with Nico later." How did Megan do that? Not just move so quietly, people didn't realize at first that she was there, but figure out what she needed? Megan added with a touch of asperity, "You were rubbing your forehead, Elena, that's usually a pretty good sign that you have a headache." _Oh. Right_. Megan told the elder detective, rolling her eyes a little, "Don't mind her. . .neither of us has eaten yet today, and we both get headaches when that happens."

"Don't they have restaurants in Campbell?" Detective Madsen asked archly, then yelped as Detective Aubrey smacked her in the back of her head. A Gibbs-smack, as Francis Rafferty would have called it. The younger detective looked at her partner, obviously affronted, and was greeted with a bored expression. Megan and Elena exchanged a glance, Elena noting that her friend looked just as confused at the by-play as she felt. The rookie detective blurted out, "That wasn't necessary! I was just asking!"

"You insist on being treated like '_one of the guys_,' Madsen. I was doing just that," Aubrey answered. That meant, more than likely, that the rookie detective was offended by being treated like a lady. Captain Anders found it a little difficult to get used to, but she never complained about the courtly behavior of the gentlemen in town. That was one of many reasons why she was easily accepted by the people of Campbell. She didn't demand that they change to suit her. Evidently, Madsen hadn't learned that lesson just yet. She would, though. Eventually.

"Of course we have restaurants in Campbell. We also have a college, movie theatres, and even a few hotels, strange as that may seem to you. However, neither of us had any desire to eat this morning," Megan answered coolly. She turned to Detective Aubrey, effectively dismissing his partner, and said, "Maybe after tests are run on his clothes and such, we'll be able to give y'all some leads. . .or, at least, point y'all in the right direction. How much time do you have?" From what Elena knew of most cities, a case wasn't declared 'cold' until at least a year later.

"Well, we've got officers canvassing the area, to see if anyone saw anything. It doesn't look promising. The vic was found at a time of day when most people were either at work or on their way home, and that alley is not easily accessible. No hard evidence. Just a badly injured man who can't speak English. It's enough to make me believe in magic," Detective Aubrey replied. Yeah. That was what she figured. He added curiously, "And no desire to eat?"

"Yeah, well, finding the dead and mutilated body of a young girl barely out of her teens tends to have that effect on us," Elena retorted, then immediately regretted it. She added, "I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that." As much as she hated to admit it, Captain Anders was right about forcing them to take time off. The detective added in a low voice as Megan walked over to speak with one of the interns who found Michael, "It happened yesterday. The vic was a college student. . .about the same age as Kristin Rafferty, and they looked a bit alike." The older detective grimaced and shook his head.

"That explains a helluva lot. Damn. I'll see about keeping Madsen on a shorter leash. She ain't used to the South yet, and tends to view towns like Campbell as the back of beyond," Detective Aubrey answered. Yeah, she got that impression. The older detective led them back toward the hospital, asking, "So, what's the next step?" Elena really wished she knew. A lot of police work was waiting. . .annoying the forensics specialists in the form of 'progress reports' was a no-no. It got in the way of the work they were doing and tended to piss them off.

"For now, Elena and I are going to get something to eat, then we'll return to the John Doe's room and see if the doctors can tell us anything new. We'll probably leave around four or thereabouts. . .oops, make that five or six. Anyhow, we'll get something to eat, see if the doctors have thought of anything new. I do want to question them, see if they've removed any particles of wood from his wounds. If we had splinters to work with, that might at least give us an idea of what tree was used to make the arrows. . .could lead to figuring out where he's from. A bit of a long-shot, I admit, but it's something," Megan explained, making one of her few contributions to the conversation. Then again, that was Meg for you. . .she only spoke when she had something to say. Elena thought that was one of the things she liked best about her friend.

The younger detective nodded thoughtfully, turning over the suggestion in her mind, and Detective Aubrey observed, "The last we heard, the doctors figured he was shot from a distance. He has no defensive wounds, so it's unlikely we'll find any DNA from the perp. I like your idea of checking for splinters. . .nice thinking." Megan dipped her head as they entered the hospital, smiling a little. Madsen rolled her eyes in disgust, and Elena controlled her desire to slap the puta silly. Detective Aubrey continued in a low voice, evidently realizing what his partner was up to, "And don't worry about stepping on toes. If you have, it's because they put their feet out there to be stepped on. You two have practically bent over backward from the moment we arrived, so don't even worry about it. Most of the grumping I hear comes from the younger officers. The macho ones, who are determined to be the next. . .whatever. Young, macho. . .I'm sure you're familiar with the type."

Only too well! Detective Aubrey grinned briefly at her obvious exasperation, then went on as they reached the elevator, "Anyhow, there are other decisions to be made." Uhm. . .and what would those be? She glanced over at Megan, who was once more up against the wall. However, her partner smiled at her. . .a small smile, but one that reassured her, nonetheless. Detective Aubrey explained, "We'll do the best we can, but we may not be able to go very far with this investigation. And there will come a time when the hospital will release him. They'll have to. . .they need the beds, and they can't do anything more for him. But a decision will have to be made. Especially if we can't find anyone here in town who knows him."

_Mierda_! He was right! That meant someone would have to make a decision about his care. . .even when his life was out of danger, and he was on the road to recovery, he would still need constant care. That opened another can of worms. However, as the elevator doors opened, Megan spoke once more, this time saying, "We'll deal with each problem as it comes along, Detective Aubrey. 'Lena, what do you think. . .leave Kristin and Nico, and grab something quick? Nothing fancy, just something enough to hold us over until dinner time."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Elena answered agreeably, and restrained herself from teasing Megan about her eating habits. That was fine if it was just them, or just them and Kristin, but a definite no-no around people they didn't know. Especially not the annoying Detective Christine Madsen. She was quite amused when Dr. Daly told them that Michael didn't have much use for the female detective, either. Elena didn't doubt she was competent, but apparently, no one ever taught her you could catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

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Back in Campbell, Captain Lydia Anders had her hands full. The case against Dalton Robeson was progressing nicely. . .her cops and the support staff did a damn good job on that. Even the defense attorney had to acknowledge (with more than a touch of disappointment) that the arresting detectives made it damn hard for her to get the case tossed on a technicality. Mayor Farrell, who was there at the time, pointed out that it wasn't their job to make things easy for her. The lawyer laughed outright and acknowledged that particular truth.

Which begged the question. . .what defense, exactly, would she use? It wasn't really Lydia's problem. . .her cops did their jobs, the support staff did theirs, and now it was up to the prosecutor. However, with all the hard work her people put into this, she had more than a passing interest in making sure the prosecutor didn't screw up the case. This was the first big case in Campbell in a good twenty years. When she stopped in at Lady J's this afternoon for a quick bite to eat, it was all she heard about.

There were a number of reasons why this case was so dramatic, and it wasn't just because Campbell was a small town. First, there was the crime itself. Even her more seasoned veterans, the ones who had been cops for twenty or thirty years, were horrified at what was done to that poor girl. It was ghastly. Next, there was the victim. . .a young and beautiful college student, with her whole life ahead of her. When Lydia told her daughter about it, the younger Anders woman sighed, "Then count on having the national news invading your town, Mom. Nothing draws the parasites like the death or disappearance of a beautiful girl." Lydia hoped not. The residents of Campbell liked their town quiet, for one thing, and for another, that influx of national reporters would strain her cops further.

Finally, there was Dalton Robeson himself. He was a relative newcomer. . .he had only lived in Campbell for about five years. He didn't fit the mould of your prototypical murderer, much less a murder of this variety. He was fairly young. . .no more than thirty-six or thirty-seven, a clean-cut professional. The trouble was, no one really knew what Dalton Robeson did for a living. He worked out of his home, but he wasn't a doctor, a lawyer, an accountant, or a broker. Until he killed Bethany Lawson (she would leave the 'alleged' business to the reporters), no one had any reason to question Dalton Robeson.

The problem wasn't coming from Bethany's parents (who blamed Robeson, and no one else, for her death), from Mayor Farrell, or from the prosecutors. No, these headaches were caused by her 'favorite' bunch of people. . .the town council, who demanded to know why the police didn't know that Robeson was dangerous. Bethany Lawson didn't have to die, one in particular ranted, while the others turned into bobble-heads. . .her death could have prevented if the police force had done their job in the first place!

Lydia, calling upon every bit of self-control she possessed, calmly asked the Councilwoman if she had any information that Dalton Robeson was dangerous. As the woman blustered and finally admitted she didn't, the police captain noticed that Tom Farrell ducked his head, trying very hard not to grin. However, she didn't react to it in any way, and instead, posed the question to the remaining Council members. One thing, at least, didn't change, no matter where you were. . .politicians were politicians. Each of the Council members acknowledged (grudgingly, in many cases) that they had no information that Dalton Robeson might pose a threat to the people of Campbell.

Once she finished her impromptu poll, Lydia told the group, "Dalton Robeson was never investigated, because we never had a reason to investigate him. No one ever came to us about suspicious activities. No one in the town really knows what he does for a living, but until now, Robeson never gave us a reason to worry. He paid his taxes on time. . .reasonably speaking. He did nothing to stand out. We can't investigate someone just because, ladies and gentlemen. Until he does something wrong. . .such as murder an innocent girl. . .our hands are tied. Unless, of course, you're talking about tossing out the rights of the accused?"

She was pleased to see reason return to the expressions of several Council members at that comment. They weren't bad people. They were angry and scared. . .many of them had children the same age as Bethany Lawson. Hell, so did she! But as a police captain, she had to perform a balancing act, one which these politicians couldn't begin to understand. Well, the mayor could. But she would not allow them to denigrate her officers and detectives, much less after they performed some of the finest police work she had ever seen, in any state.

Mayor Farrell said into the silence that followed, "You and your department did a fine job, Captain Anders. I received a call from Mrs. Lawson, saying the same. I think you can forgive the. . .overly-enthusiastic members, who want to make sure their own daughters are safe?" Of course. After Bethany was found, and Robeson was arrested, Lydia called her own daughter. The mayor continued, "And the arresting detectives? How are they?" Lydia looked at Farrell quickly, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He was up to something.

"They're fine. . .currently on leave. They were long past due for vacation time, and I believed after this case, vacation was absolutely necessary," Lydia replied cautiously. _What are you up to, Farrell. . .aside from six five_? Then it hit her. She wasn't sure if she should hug him or smack him, so she settled for neither and explained to the Council, "Detectives Elena Gutierrez and Megan Rafferty found Bethany Lawson's body. Anyone who knows the Rafferty family, no doubt, has noticed the similarities between Bethany Lawson and Kristin Rafferty. Detective Rafferty also noticed."

"As Captain Anders said, the detectives in question were long past due time off. I think it is a tribute to the professionalism of this police department that even with that exhaustion, Miss Lawson's uncanny resemblance to the future Dr. Rafferty, and the condition of Miss Lawson's body when she was found, that Dalton Robeson not only arrived at the holding cells alive, but in pristine condition. I think that says a great deal about the professionalism of Campbell police officers," Farrell said. Lydia was torn between laughing and rolling her eyes. He was really laying it on thick!

However, the Council took the bait dangled in front of its collective face, and the very same Councilwoman who only moments earlier demanded to know why no one knew Robeson was a threat earlier, now proposed a commendation for the two detectives. Lydia realized, as the Council voted on it, that this was exactly what Farrell was angling for. His shit-eating grin, for one, told her. She wanted to be angry with him, but he was a politician, and this was the sort of thing he did. Lydia told herself that she should be grateful that she could count on him for aid with the department. And she was. But there were still times when she wanted to strangle him.

That led to the current headache. Some of the younger officers were now angry because they had to pull more shifts, to cover for the absences of Gutierrez and Rafferty. Something which made the older officers laugh, because when they were young cops, they asked for _more_ shifts, to better provide for their families. Lydia understood, though. This wasn't about money or about shifts. . .this was about jealousy. The older officers (and detectives) were much more relaxed about the entire situation. And they told Lydia to relax, as well, because in most cases, it would blow over soon. Something else was going on with a lot of the kids, and once they got it worked out. . .well. . .

And the others? They were fewer, but Lydia still needed to keep an eye on them. Just like the military and the fire department, there were some people who just didn't belong in the police force. She never fully understood why someone would choose to become a cop, if that wasn't what they wanted. For her, and for many of the officers in Campbell, it was more a calling. Lydia never wanted to be anything but a cop. They all had their breaking points. . .none of them were perfect. Part of her job was to make sure that she knew what those breaking points were, and provide relief.

And that reminded her. . .speaking of breaking points, she hoped to hear from the duo in Raleigh. Yeah, she talked to them this morning (or rather, she talked to Gutierrez this morning), but she wanted to hear what was going on. Lydia held absolutely no illusions about them. They were reaching their breaking points. If she hadn't removed them from duty, one or both would have lost it. They had access to counseling, sure. But they needed time away. Lydia just wished she could forget Megan Rafferty's expression when she learned she was taking a vacation. In the beginning, she truly thought she was being punished, and she couldn't figure out why. This meant she was a lot closer to the edge than Lydia originally thought. . .she was in danger of losing perspective. Gutierrez was more vocal about it, which meant Lydia had less to worry about with her.

And now, she came full circle. She shook her head a little, trying to focus on the latest report. Detective Barclay, one of her senior detectives, was now investigating Dalton Robeson in full. . .they knew he murdered Bethany Lawson, but given the methodical way he killed her, there was a good chance he killed before. Especially given the particulars of the case. It was too neat, if mutilating and torturing a girl could be called neat. No. . .no, this wasn't the first time he had done it. Once they had a direction, Lydia could start sending out feelers to other police departments in the United States and Canada. The more she learned, the more it was clear. . .Campbell was about to become the epicenter of a firestorm of some kind.

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In Aman, another woman of power was finding it much more difficult to scry than usual. The Mirror, as she once told Frodo Baggins, showed many things. . .what was, what is, what could be. Right now, it showed her only what went before. . .so many millennia ago, during the War of the Ring. It showed Boromir speaking with Aragorn, acknowledging that he would find no rest in Lorien. It showed the Elessar, chosen of her granddaughter, chastising Boromir for his discomfort before they even entered Lorien, telling him that whatever evil men found in the forest, they brought with them.

What evil did Boromir of Gondor bring with him? No evil. Only exhaustion, despair, and love. When she spoke to him in his mind, did she mean to comfort him or drive him further into despair? Not even she knew anymore. Aye, it was necessary for the Fellowship to break, or Frodo would have been captured with Merry and Pippin, and all would have been lost. Was there a better way of doing it? Aye, it was time for young Faramir to shine. It was time for the King to return to Gondor, and it was time for the Elves to pass over the sea. But was there a better way of doing it? Galadriel had no answers, only questions.

She looked once more into the Mirror, but it was frozen on Boromir's anguished face and haunted eyes. For the first time, she saw just how lost he felt. Lost. Galadriel suddenly knew what to do and whispered, "Show me. . .show me Arda's lost child!" The picture blurred before dimming altogether, and the water went very still. Galadriel did not move. Her patience was rewarded less than a breath later, when the picture reformed. Now, she saw Boromir lying in a bed, his eyes closed, and his arms resting at his sides. The bed sheets and pillow under his body and head were all white, only a few shades paler than his face. She knew enough from listening to the tales told by Legolas and Haldir after their return visits that he was likely in a place of healing, called 'hospitals' by modern Men. He was unconscious, or perhaps sleeping. But he was alive, and Galadriel released a breath she didn't realize she was holding. He was alive! Her heart rejoiced for the valiant son of Gondor.

The picture changed once more, and now she saw one of the healers attending Boromir. She still knew not where he was. . .nor how he came to be in this time. But she knew him. The healer at his side was a young Woman, no more than twenty-five years of age, perhaps less. Her long black hair spilled down her back, and reminded Galadriel painfully of her beautiful granddaughter. _Ai, Arwen_! The ancient Elf shook herself. . .her granddaughter made her choice. And this girl was not her granddaughter, though she was beautiful in her own way. Her eyes were almond-shaped and brown, filled with compassion as she cared for her charge.

The picture changed once more, and now a new face was reflected in the Mirror. This was also a young Woman, but older than the first. . .perhaps thirty years of age, as counted by mortals. Also dark-eyed, with long dark hair. . .however, this girl's eyes were far more weary. She was one who had lost her innocence a long, long time ago (at least, a long time ago, as mortals understood time). The young Woman's face was triangular in shape, and reminded Galadriel somewhat of a cat. Hers was an exotic beauty, belonging perhaps to the descendents of the Haradrim. Or one of the other peoples contained within what was once Mordor. Her gaze was direct, her expression determined. . .and in fact, in some ways, it reminded her of someone. . .

Again, the picture changed, and again, the new face reflected in the Mirror was that of a young Woman. She looked to be the same age as the second Woman, perhaps a little older, perhaps a little younger. And like the second Woman, she had weary eyes. The eyes of a warrior, Galadriel realized now. . .both the second and third Women had warrior eyes. She was unsmiling at the moment, her expression solemn, though not quite somber. Her eyes were dark, though not as dark as the eyes of the first or second Women, and her hair was also dark, but unlike the two previous Women, the dark waves bore touches of silver. She lacked the exotic beauty of her two sisters, and at first glance, she seemed no one special. But Galadriel knew the Mirror would not have shown her this girl if she was not special . .if she was not important.

However, even with that knowledge, it was nothing useful. It was nothing that would help Greenleaf and Haldir in their new quest. Galadriel smiled without humor. What was she to tell the pair. . .that she saw Boromir in a hospital, with three women? Such information would be of no aid to the prince and her loyal MarchWarden. It was not a location, and that was what they needed most. She could tell them that Boromir was likely in no immediate danger, but Galadriel doubted Greenleaf would heed her. His quest into the world of mortal Men had very little to do with Boromir's safety, and far more with the prince's need to see his long-lost friend once more. Galadriel would not dismiss that desire as being selfish. She knew better. Thirty thousand years passed since the two last saw each other, and Galadriel was certain that Legolas would not allow his desires to place Boromir in danger.

The Lady of Lorien passed her hand over the Mirror, whispering, "Your friend comes for you, Boromir of Gondor. And until that time, you have two warriors who will watch over you and protect you." She sighed deeply, closing her eyes. Galadriel was actually less concerned about Boromir's safety than she was about the serenity of Aman. With the revelation that Boromir was brought forward in time, old wounds were re-opened. Some old wounds. . .and some not so old wounds. Some wounds that were nearly fresh, in fact, for a period of seventy years was but a blink of an eye to one of the Firstborn.

The Mirror told her many things, but the truth about the rift between Mithrandir and Legolas was not among them. She knew only that the argument was so hurtful to the prince, he left Aman for the world of Mortals and remained there for well over a century. She also saw its effects on Mithrandir. With Legolas gone, the wizard was the last of the Fellowship, a knowledge that weighed heavily on him. Through him, through his memory, the other seven remained. . .just as they remained in the hearts, and minds, and souls of the ones they left behind among the Firstborn. And while the rift remained unhealed even after Legolas returned, at least Mithrandir was no longer the only member of the Fellowship who still lived.

Time passed. Legolas continued his wandering, leaving whenever the wanderlust was too much for him, and returning when he was called home. In the early twentieth century, however, that changed. He journeyed forth into the world of Men with the beginning of the Great War (for the Elves regarded the wars of 1914 and 1939 as one war, with a twenty year ceasefire). He would have lost his life, trying to save the lives of others, were it not for the determination and courage of a young man. . .of Aragorn Elessar reborn. Many in Aman hoped that the terrible war would show Legolas his true place, once and for all, among the Elves. It did not. It only increased his desire to aid the reincarnations of his friends in the modern world.

When that evil Man known as 'Hitler' rose to power, Galadriel and her people watched him warily, fearing that he would eventually find Aman, despite the protection of the Maiar and the Valar. Several Elves, Elrohir and Elladan among them, wanted to journey into the world of Men, sensing in Hitler the same thing Galadriel did. A seed of evil, of darkness much like that of Sauron's, was within this man. Even in Aman, the Elves could feel his evil, long before they knew of places like Nanking, Auschwitz and other such horrors. Legolas, of course, wanted to go. His friends needed him. Elrond and Mithrandir, on the other hand, warned against such a venture. And they were willing to use unfair tactics, in order to keep Legolas from going. He had no intention of taking anyone with him, but that was not the point. . .not for them, at least.

In so doing, they increased the chasm between Legolas and Mithrandir, opening another fault line, this one between the prince and the Lord of the Last Homely House. Other rifts were created. It took nearly two decades before Glorfindel and Erestor spoke to Elrond again, and the twins were similarly disgusted with their father. Caught in the middle were Galadriel and her only child, who could see both sides, and for that reason, remained neutral. Yet, in the end, it was all for naught, because Haldir and Legolas went anyhow, with aid from Cirdan and from Thranduil. The duo spent the next decade and a half, fighting that evil. Neither were the same when they returned. Haldir, who saw atrocities during his many centuries of service in the Golden Wood, wept when he spoke of the terrible things he saw.

And yet, despite the horrors they saw, Galadriel was stunned when Haldir and Legolas repeated those long-ago words spoken by Boromir of Gondor. Yes, there was weakness and sometimes even evil in Men. But there was also strength, there was honor, there was much, much more to Men. They saw acts of terrible evil, but they also saw acts of incredible compassion and bravery. The line of Isildur, Elendil,Anorien and Elessar was scattered, but such men did remain. It was as Gandalf said, so many years earlier in Rivendell, before the Fellowship was even formed. . ._'I will place my faith in men_.' And he was right to do so.

"He is safe, my Lady? At least for now?" Haldir asked in Sindarin. Galadriel smiled and turned to face the warrior, who was as the son she never had. In the world of Men, he used the name 'Haldane Lorance.' The first name, he explained, meant 'half-Dane,' and he was greatly impressed by the courage and determination of the Danish people he met during his sojourn. And as for 'Lorance,'it was the closest he could come to 'Lorien,' the home of his heart. A choice that touched Galadriel deeply.

"For now, he is safe enough. Do not let your heart be troubled, Haldir. He may not remember you, when you and the princeling find him. But he will be safe, and in the care of three women. . .two of them warriors," the Elven Lady replied in the same language. Haldir nodded, looking only a little mollified. Galadriel took his hands, leading him toward the steps where she held so many conversations with her daughter, and said, "Now come, and tell me. When did you come to care so much for Boromir of Gondor. . .which of the prince's stories guided you on that path?"

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When he woke once more, Kristin was at his side, and the hound still lay beside him. By now, he was growing accustomed to the pain piercing his body from so many places. But there was comfort too. . .in the warmth of the hound's body huddled against his, and in the sight of Kristin sitting beside him. She looked truly weary, but still, a smile blossomed when his eyes met hers. Once more, she spoke that strange name, 'my-cal,' and he decided either that was his name, or that was what they would call him. Either way, he liked it better than 'Jahn.'

They were alone. . .just he, Kristin, and the hound. Who, it seemed, sensed he was awake, and nosed under his hand. It was a demand, he realized after the hound did it again, a demand to be petted. My-cal did as he was bid, rubbing his thumb over the hound's muzzle and ears. Apparently, that met with its approval, because every time he stopped, it nudged his hand once more. He didn't mind. It required very little strength, and was actually quite soothing. Kristin smiled and said, pointing to the hound, "Neeco." Neeco? Neeco was its name? For the first time, he realized he had no idea if the hound was male or female. It mattered little, he supposed, but he would have liked to know.

Kristin lightly brushed her fingers over his head, which ached. He actually felt somewhat. . .strange, and had no idea what it meant. However, Kristin's expression didn't change, so he told himself firmly not to worry about it. Instead, he smiled up at her a bit weakly, and wished he knew enough of her strange language to ask where Maygun and Frend were. Instead, he repeated what she called the hound, "Neeco." That drew another smile, and My-cal summoned the strength to ask, "Maygun? Frend?"

Kristin mouthed, '_frend_,' as if she wasn't entirely certain what he was asking her. Then she mouthed, '_Maygun_' and '_frend_,' and My-cal saw understanding dawn in her eyes. She smiled brightly and said, "Frend. . .Ay-lay-na." Now the pieces clicked into place for My-cal. Ay-lay-na was Maygun's boon companion. Kristin's smile further widened and she pointed outside the window. So, they were outside? It had been so long since he was outside. . .hadn't it? Kristin added, "Lunch." And she motioned as if putting food into her mouth. So they had not yet eaten? He immediately wished she hadn't told him that, because he realized he was hungry. He supposed that was a good sign. . .that something was stronger than the pain.

The question was, could he eat anything? And if he could, was it time to eat yet? Oh yes, and a third question. . .was he physically capable of feeding himself? He hated the idea of someone feeding him as if he was naught but a babe, but he wasn't willing to let his pride stand in the way, either. He was trying to think of a way to communicate this to her when the door opened, and Maygun and Aylayna entered the room, with two people right behind them. My-cal recognized the second two, and made a face. The man, who seemed to be older, was a decent sort. . .but the young woman with him? She yelled too much. And My-cal didn't like the way she treated Kristin, as if the young healer was somehow her lesser.

Within seconds, he could tell that Maygun and Aylayna felt the same. He could see it in Maygun's tense stance, though her expression remained the same. . .and in Aylayna's glare toward the woman. Wanting to show off his new knowledge, and hoping they would relax, he rasped, "Maygun. . . Aylayna." My-cal was rewarded with two brilliant smiles, and Kristin began speaking to her sibling, obviously excited. Maygun nodded intently, her hand resting lightly on the younger woman's arm, her expression relaxed. Once Kristin was finished, Maygun took her turn, her voice very soft as she gestured with her hands. He could understand very little, but it seemed that Maygun was telling Kristin about downstairs and outside. Perhaps she was speaking of eating?

Or perhaps not. . .he would have asked for more lessons in this new language, but the bloody fone made that terrible noise again, and My-cal nearly fell out of bed. He would have done so, too, were it not for Neeco, who lay on that side, and ensured that My-cal remained where he was. Still, despite the valiant hound, the patient found himself longing for a weapon, any weapon, so he could destroy the infernal device! Fortunately, Kristin picked it up nearly immediately. She spoke briefly, nodding every few minutes, then handed the phone over to the man. He barked something at the fone, which sounded like, 'Awbree,' then fell silent once more. My-cal sank back against his pillows, sighing quietly. He wondered if Kristin could do something about that woman. . . not Maygun, or Aylayna, but the other one. She kept staring at him, and it began to seriously annoy him.

Well, there was little he could do about her. My-cal defiantly closed his eyes, as if to say that she frightened him not. He was already accustomed to not knowing what was said, but he liked it little, and wondered if there was some way he could learn the new language faster. He might remember nothing, but at least if he could speak the language, he could communicate with the women. He was at a disadvantage, in so many ways, and it frightened him badly. He felt no shame for this fear. . .indeed, given his situation, it was his firmest belief that having no fear would have been truly foolish.

An unfamiliar sound had him opening his eyes. The woman was gone from the room, and the man was gripping hands with Maygun and then with Aylayna. My-cal frowned. What did that mean? Was it a gesture of respect? The man smiled at him reassuringly, and My-cal smiled back, though he feared the smile reflected his confusion. Then he wondered if it meant anything that the man took Maygun's hand first. She and Aylayna were equals, were they not? Perhaps Maygun was the elder, or. . .was it possible she had the greater rank? Something about these two women made him think perhaps they were warriors. The way they carried themselves, the way they were constantly aware of what was going on.

He had no clue if he was a warrior. . .it made sense, perhaps, but he could remember nothing for himself. He might be a warrior. . .he might know warriors. But if he was not a warrior, how would he know one? Oh, his head was throbbing all over again! He squeezed his eyes shut and let his head drop back once more. Unfortunately, he also stopped petting Neeco when he did that, and the hound was not at all pleased about that. It whined a little and nosed at his hand once more. My-cal began petting the hound reflexively once more, never once opening his eyes. Neeco settled down, resting its muzzle on My-cal's thigh. . .one of the few places where he didn't seem to hurt.

And yet, he was still in pain. To re-focus his attention, My-cal began repeating the new words which he just learned. Pinsul. Taybul. Sister. Tok. Fone. Frend. Such a small start to a new beginning. _Tis strange. . .to suffer so much fear and doubt for such a little thing_. My-cal's entire body jerked as the words repeated in his mind. Words spoken in his voice. He felt a strain in his shoulder, as if he was holding something truly heavy. . .felt an icy wind on his face, as if. . . He shuddered, sending spasms of pain through his body. This made no sense. What was happening to him?

His eyes flew open, to find Kristin, Maygun, and Aylayna hovering over him, each wearing a concerned expression. He stared up at them, wondering what he had done. . .why they were so concerned for him, a stranger. Yes, he knew that Kristin was a healer. . .or, perhaps an apprentice healer. . .but why were the other two women so worried about him? It made as little sense to him as the strange words in his mind only a moment earlier. But this was different. This was real. . .solid. Not a dream, not a figment of his imagination. This was real. Kristin reached out her hand and lightly stroked his hair.

He closed his eyes, relaxing at the touch. He knew not his name. He knew not where he came from, or the language of this new place. One thing he did know. . .he was as safe as he could be with these three women. Kristin's voice forced him to open his eyes once more. She was speaking to Maygun, he discovered. Her older sibling listened without saying a word, then shook her head. Obviously, this wasn't the answer Kristin wanted, for she blurted out, "Meg!" What did that mean? Kristin was not happy with the older woman, but it didn't seem to be an obscene term. Neither Maygun nor Aylayna seemed to chastise her. Maygun just shook her head, looking sympathetic, and Kristin repeated, now pleading, "Meg?"

This time, My-cal repeated it, and all three women looked at him in surprise. After a moment, Kristin nodded to May-gun and said, "Meg." Maygun was Meg? My-cal frowned in confusion. . .perhaps the herbs used to ease his pain was affecting his mind, because he could not understand what she. . . And then comprehension dawned. 'Meg' was a pet name for Maygun. How did one get 'Meg' from 'Maygun,' he was uncertain, however, it mattered little. He understood! He understood, and he liked 'Meg' much better. What he still didn't understand was what they were discussing. . .although, he had an uneasy sensation their conversation focused around him.

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This was neither the time nor the place for this discussion. . .alright, it was the place, since they were discussing what came next for Michael. Megan had to admit, Elena knew what she was doing when she named the John Doe after the Archangel. Michael, patron saint of soldiers and cops, a Prince of Heaven. However, this Michael was earth-bound, and all too human. Nothing even remotely angel-like about him, though she supposed some might argue, since the man had blond hair.

Either way, she didn't want to have this discussion right now. She and Elena still hadn't eaten, she spent the last two hours trying her damnedest not to strangle Detective Madsen, and deciding who would take care of Michael after he was released from the hospital was just not at the top of her priorities right now. It wasn't that she didn't care about what happened next. . .but he was still listed in critical condition, and it would be sometime before he was released from the hospital. Besides. Megan preferred to deal with one problem at a time.

Michael surprised her when he repeated her pet name, but she supposed she shouldn't have been. The man heard Kristin use it twice, so that was to be expected. And he was so cute, really, the way his eyes would light up after he learned a new word or a new phrase. Then again, he was cute, period, and immediately, Megan chastised herself for thinking that way. He was a victim, the victim of a crime she was helping to investigate. There was no room for such unprofessional behavior! But. . .he was cute. And she was still human. Even if she didn't feel that way when she got up this morning.

Before Kristin could beg her to at least think about Michael's future, Elena said, "Listen, chiquita. . .Megan and I haven't eaten yet. Give us about thirty minutes while we grab something to eat and drink, and then we'll talk about what to do about Michael. All right?" To Megan's relief, her sister backed down, and actually hugged them both before Megan and Elena left the room together. Michael looked like he was about to fall back to sleep, and with Nico standing guard, Megan knew he would be in good hands. The very best.

As they headed toward the elevator, Elena said softly, "It's not a bad idea, you know. We could run his picture in the paper, see if anyone recognizes him. He needs somewhere to go, once he's released from the hospital. And yes, that's a long time away, but if we get started now, we can make a plan of action, in case he has no one around here." Megan just nodded, but said nothing. Her head was throbbing, and she wasn't sure if it was because she hadn't eaten yet, or if it was because of Madsen.

For the moment, they would go with the idea that her headache came from not eating this morning. It wasn't one of her smarter moves, as she well knew, but she couldn't eat anything. Literally, could not. Her insides were twisted up, and just the thought of food made her ill. Unexpectedly, her mind returned to the man in the room they just left, and she smiled. Elena asked, "What was that for?" Megan looked up, startled, and her partner continued, "That sudden grin. You went from looking like you were ready to gut someone, to. . ."

"I was just thinking," Megan admitted, and whacked her friend's arm when Elena muttered, '_well, that's dangerous_' under her breath. The statuesque cop rubbed her arm with a mock-pout, which Megan cheerfully ignored as she continued, "I was thinking about the John Doe. . .Michael, as you keep calling him. You know, the poor man is probably starving. We have no idea when he last ate. And. . .he's just now learning English." They will have to be careful with what he eats. . .it was doubtful, given his gut wound, that they would have him eating anything solid for a while.

Elena grimaced and said softly, "Yeah, the poor guy's probably past hunger. And he's not some little dude, either. Did you hear Detective Aubrey saying that it took four people to lift him onto that gurney? Bet every last bit of it is muscle, too. Poor man." She fell silent for a moment, then added quietly, "Wish there was something more we could do for him. He seems so lost." Megan nodded. Yeah. She knew the feeling. It wasn't that she didn't want to help their mysterious visitor. She felt as badly for him as Elena did. But until she had something eat (preferably with at least one piece of chocolate), she wouldn't be able to think clearly.

"One step at a time, 'Lena. They need to make sure he'll be all right. And I doubt if they'll let him out of the hospital while he's in such pain. If he can't even move without blinding agony, he'll likely be here for a while. We have our own job to do, and if we can't turn up anything. . .we'll figure out what comes next. But right now, food is the most important thing. Oh, and when we get ready to leave the hospital, we need to look for a convenience store. I'm nearly out of body wash. I realized it while I was in the bathroom, before we left," Megan replied. She should have noticed it that morning, but she was in a hurry to pack. And her three showers the previous day didn't help much.

"Good, that'll give me a chance to pick up some mousse," Elena replied almost absently. She touched the side of Megan's head, sighing, "You did it again, didn't you? You put too much mousse in your hair. I can feel where you combed it." Megan smacked her hand away, glaring at her. _Not this again_! Elena raised her hands in a 'surrender' gesture, adding, "I know, it's easier for you. Besides, I have to have something to tease you about, other than your utter lack of interest in food."

"I am not uninterested in food," Megan protested as they entered the lobby. That was the last place she saw a directory, and it seemed every nurse's station was either overwhelmed, or understaffed, if not a combination of both. As she studied the directory, she continued, "I like food. I just don't believe in making myself sick while I'm eating. I can't afford to be in the ladies room every half an hour, especially not during an investigation." She located the cafeteria on the legend, and set out in that direction. It took Elena two steps to catch up with her.

Apparently, her partner decided it was best to let that conversation go, and instead asked, "You're not gonna tell your parents, are you?" Megan shook her head. No, there wasn't much point in it. Number one, her parents were on vacation and on a cruise, and while they could be contacted, that kinda negated the whole purpose of a vacation. Number two, the only reason she would break that silence was if something was actually wrong with Kristin or Gavin, or Gavin's son. None of those conditions were met, so. . .so, she really didn't see a point in telling them. Elena added, "They'll want to know when they get home."

"And that's when I'll tell them. . .maybe before they actually reach Campbell, so they aren't greeted with that when Dad opens the paper, or when they pull into the drive way. I just don't want to ruin their vacation for no reason, 'Lena. This is their second honeymoon. . .well, really, it's their first. They couldn't afford a honeymoon when they first got married. I want it to be special for them. And, more than likely, Mom will be upset with me for not telling her, but that's a chance I'm willing to take," Megan answered.

"Upset that you might have needed her, and she wasn't there, more than anything else. It's not like you kept something really big from her. . .like Kristin being hurt. I know your dad would be upset for the same reason. But he would also think it was funny that they had spent so many years, protecting you and Kristin to the best of their ability, and now, the shoe is on the other foot. Your dad. . .he's so proud of you, you know that?" Elena asked and Megan smiled as they reached the hospital cafeteria.

"He tells me that at least once a day, I think. Once a day, and twice on Sundays, as Grandma always used to say. Mom teases him sometimes, tells him that he gives me Vitamin P every day. . .P for 'pride.' I sometimes wonder. . .because he is so determined that I know that he's proud of me, I wonder if my grandfather never told him that. I mean, I know Gandy was proud of all of his children. He told me that not long before he died. . .said that no man could have asked for better children, or better grandchildren. Some men can't say those things out loud, but. . . I can't imagine that. . .Gandy never made it a secret that he was proud of Kristin and me, but sometimes people are different with their grandchildren than they are with their children. It's just. . .I dunno," Megan said, shaking her head.

"Maybe your grandfather told you more often while you were growing up than he did your father, because he thought you needed it more," Elena suggested and Megan shrugged. It was possible, of course. . .she just. . .something felt wrong about that somehow. It was almost as if her father told her (and Kristin) that he was proud of them, not just for their sake, but for his own. It was as if he needed to tell them that. And it made her wonder. Megan was a cop, but there were some questions she wasn't willing to ask even her father.

This time, she changed the subject, saying, "The way I see it, we can either get a snack, a la chocolate bars. . . or we can get something nutritious. We have about ten minutes to decide!" Elena laughed, and Megan was sure she would choose the chocolate. Elena loved chocolate her entire life. . .unlike Megan, who turned into a chocolate fiend upon her thirtieth birthday. And with that, the discussion of their hapless John Doe was tabled, along with all conversations regarding her parents' knowledge of the Bethany Lawson case. There were some subjects that you didn't discuss while eating. . .talking shop fell into that category.


	7. Interludes

Yes, I'm back! I'm horribly sorry that it's taken me almost four months to update, but my computer monitor was conking out on me, and I had to wait until I could replace the items in question. Here is the next chapter, and I just threw another wrinkle into the equation. True, it won't bear fruit for sometime, but it'll give you something to chew on! (grins) Also, I was recently informed that _Champions_ and my LOTR one-shot, _All Save One_, have both been nominated for MEFA awards, much to my excitement. This is only the second time any of my stories have been nominated for fanfiction awards, so yes, I'm very excited (and very grateful to she who nominated me).

BTW, this chapter is dedicated to my best friend and ebil twin (not evil. Ebil). . .Sam, whose birthday was Thursday and to the Carolina Hurricanes, who won the Stanley Cup Championship. GO 'Canes!

And on with the story!

Chapter Six

Interludes

For half an hour, Megan Rafferty and Elena Gutierrez did nothing but relax. No work was discussed. . .not Bethany Lawson's death, not the finding of the mysterious John Doe. Not even what they would do for their next visit to the elementary school, late the following month. They ate their candy bars and drank their sodas, choosing instead to talk about little things. It didn't matter if they already knew about it-such as the 'little' gift Megan got for her parents, which they would find when they returned home from their cruise. . .a porch swing for their backyard. Or Elena's youngest niece Angela adding a new word to her ever-growing vocabulary. It didn't matter. They needed to talk about the small things, the mundane things. It helped to keep them both sane.

And with the most recent insanity, there were a lot of little things they didn't know about each others' lives. Little Angela was learning words at an alarming rate. Especially words that she shouldn't know. (At this, Megan couldn't help giggling. Yes, they caught onto those naughty words with amazing aptitude. . .as she remembered from other babies she was around over the years). But it came to an end, just like always. Once the thirty minutes were up, the partners rose to their feet, gathering up their trash and throwing it away. As soon as they left the cafeteria, 'Lena asked softly, "So. . .what do you think we should do next? It's getting late, and I dunno about you, but I'd just as soon wait until tomorrow to take Nico out into the alley." Megan nodded her agreement, popping a mint into her mouth.

Once she could speak around the mint, she answered, "Totally agree. One thing I wanna do, tonight or tomorrow, doesn't matter which, is set up a timeline. Maybe it won't help us figure out who this guy is or where he came from, but it can only help us clarify things. We also should get a picture of him in the paper, see if someone recognizes him. I figure someone here in the hospital has a digital camera, and no doubt, some contacts with the local media."

"As long as they deal with the media, instead of us," 'Lena sighed and Megan nodded in agreement. The local reporters in Campbell weren't that bad. . .they were locals, after all, and they were more concerned with reporting the news than they were with making the news. But they weren't in Campbell any more, and when you came right down to it, this wasn't really their investigation. As Detective Madsen was soooo fond of reminding them. Megan rolled her eyes at the thought of the younger detective. Her partner said after a moment, successfully distracting Megan, "When we get back to the hotel, I should really call the captain, and update her on what's going on."

"I'm so glad you said, 'what's going on,' instead of 'progress,' Elena," Megan observed, shaking her head, "I sometimes get the feeling that we're missing something so incredibly obvious. . .something right in our face. I just can't figure out what that something might be." She slid her hands into her pockets, shivering a little. The sky was darkening outside the hospital, and the air temperature was starting to cool. Unfortunately, that led to a now-familiar ache in her hips and her knees. Another reason she wouldn't argue with her partner about returning to the extended stay shortly.

Besides, she was exhausted. While the boost provided by the candy bar and the Coke took the edge off her exhaustion and her hunger, it wouldn't last. As the friends reached the elevator and slipped inside, Megan sank back against the wall, closing her eyes. She only slept for a total of four hours, between the naps she took this morning and the sleep she got the previous night. While she was only thirty-two, the lack of sleep took its toll. She was used to it by now, to both the exhaustion and the pain in her leg joints. With the amount of time she spent on her feet, especially when she was walking on cement, it was to be expected.

She sensed 'Lena stepping back to join her, and her friend said softly, "You gonna be all right, querida?" Megan nodded, her eyes still closed. 'Lena continued, her voice soft with commiseration, "It isn't just being on our feet. . .it isn't just the sleepless nights. Putting up with that mujer and her attitude is enough to exhaust anyone. If something ugly ever happens in Campbell, one where we need the help of another department, remind me to be on my very best behavior. Si, I know. . .Campbell is a small town, but you just never do know about these things." Megan opened her eyes and smiled at her best friend. For all of her talk and jokes, Elena had no worries on that account. Megan couldn't count the number of people in town who told her about how nice Detective Gutierrez was to them. So polite and professional when she needed to be, and so kind-hearted when she was just being a neighbor!

"Detective Christine Madsen actually defines the term, '_damn Yankee_.' And I think even my mother would have a hard time saying '_bless her heart_' for any reason, no matter what came after it. You know I don't say that about just anyone, 'Lena. Captain Anders is a Yankee, and she stayed, but she's not a damn Yankee. Detective Madsen, however, is another story," Megan told her friend as they reached their floor. Elena nodded, smiling faintly. After all, not only was Captain Anders a Yankee, but technically speaking, so was Megan's father. Or maybe he didn't count, since he was actually from Canada. Still. There were categories of Yankees. . . Yankees, damn Yankees, and Southerners raised as Yankees. So far as Megan was concerned, her father and Captain Anders fell into the final category.

This final category wasn't something Megan grew up hearing about, like GRITS (girls raised in the South). No, this was something she came up with on her own, and it wasn't something she was in any hurry to share. Some things were meant to be personal, not meant to be shared with other people. Including the nagging pain in her hip. That didn't stop 'Lena from noticing, however. She said softly, "You know, we've done about all we can do for today. Let's head back to the extended stay, you can get a shower, we can eat, and pick this up again in the morning. He's not going anywhere."

Well, that much was true. Megan asked, "Pizza ok?" Elena nodded as they left the elevator and returned to the John Doe's room once more. He was asleep, they discovered, his face slack and peaceful. Kristin was at his side, lightly stroking his hair. Megan smiled. Their mother did that sometimes when they were sick. Kristin looked up, and so did Nico. It occurred to Megan, more than once, that they knew nothing about this man. For instance. . .what if he was a murderer? It was possible, but she trusted Nico. The dog, like many animals, sensed when there was something not quite right about a human. On the other hand, he probably understood that their John Doe. . .Michael. . . was in no condition to hurt anyone right now.

"We're gonna head back to the extended stay, Kristy. . .nothing more we can do right now. Do you wanna come with, get some pizza, or maybe meet in the morning?" Megan asked her younger sister. Kristin half-turned in her seat, frowning thoughtfully. Even before the younger Rafferty looked at the patient, Megan knew her sister's answer, and offered, "Eight am? Meet you in the hospital cafeteria? Even if they don't have a proper breakfast, I'm sure they at least have candy bars."

"Negatory. . .the hospital cafeteria doesn't open until around ten am. I'll meet you at the extended at nine am, and I'll bring the food with me. Before you ask, Dr. Daly is asking around about a digital camera, so we can put Michael's picture in the paper. He has some contacts at the paper, and he offered to do this. . .unfortunately, he doesn't have a digital camera of his own. Funny thing, that. He's no technophobe. . .has a computer and internet access. . .but he doesn't have a digital camera," Kristin observed with a thoughtful frown.

"Maybe he likes the regular pictures. Elena's brother is like that in some respects. He seems like a nice guy, your Dr. Daly. What do you know about him?" Megan inquired. She wasn't suspicious of him. . .at least, any more than she was of anyone she just met. However, there was something odd about the way he interacted with the vic. . .with Michael. Not bad. Just. . .odd. When she had the opportunity to observe them (and such opportunities were few and far between), Dr. Daly seemed almost affectionate toward his amnesiac patient. But he swore he never met the man before in his life. Odd. Very odd.

"Not that much. . .he's in his early sixties, originally from Ireland. Came to the States when he was twenty-five. Hasn't been back to Ireland in several years, but talks often with his nephew over the phone. His nephew lives in Dublin, even though they're originally from Donegal. While you and 'Lena were downstairs, getting something to eat, Dr. Daly was in here, checking on Michael. He's talking about bringing in the old picture books. . you know the ones, the beginning readers? He wants to help Michael with his English," Kristin answered.

"I remember," Megan murmured. She shook her head, then whistled at Nico. The dog lifted his head and whined a little. The shorter cop said, "C'mon, boy. . .we'll be back tomorrow, but we need to head back." Nico's tail thumped on the bed a few times, then, as if he reached a decision, the dog licked the hand of the unconscious human at his side. He raised himself up to his haunches, and carefully made his way to the edge of the bed, before jumping down. Megan shook her head, muttering, "Honestly, I'd swear sometimes that dog's more intelligent than most humans!"

"Only sometimes?" Kristin asked with a wry smile as she rose to her feet to hug Megan. The older sister rolled her eyes, then squeaked a little. There were times when her little sister didn't know her own strength. Kristin went on, "Okay, y'all drive careful going back to the extended stay. I'll meet you there tomorrow morning, with food. You still like pineapples right?" Oh yes. . .yes, Megan became hooked on pineapples when she went to Hawaii. . .her graduation gift from their parents. To make things even better, Elena went with her!

"Nine am, and we'll go over what we plan to do next at that point," Elena added as Kristin released Megan, and hugged her. The older sister grinned impishly as her partner actually lifted Kristin off her feet. . .it was her turn to squeal. Elena put her down, grinning impishly, and said, "Okay, querida, we're out of here. Come on, pup. . .time to scoot. See in the morning, chiquita." Kristin stuck her tongue out, and as the partners left the room, it was she who had the last word. . .singing _Chiquita Banana_.

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Under the waves of the Atlantic Ocean, in Aman, Haldir had many, many stories to tell Lady Galadriel of the honor, courage, compassion, and humor of Boromir of Gondor. So many stories which Legolas told him on their journeys. He began his own stories with his favorite, of Boromir teaching the two youngest hobbits, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, how to use a sword properly. It was actually a story told to Legolas by the hobbits, years after the quest, when they could finally speak of Boromir without sorrow. At the time, Thranduilion was busy watching the Crebain slowly become larger in the distance, though he knew not at first what they were.

The Lady of the Wood laughed with delight when Haldir, his own voice shaking with repressed laughter, told her of Boromir's accidental wounding of Peregrin Took, followed by the great warrior of Gondor being felled by a pair of hobbits who proceeded to wrestle and tickle him. He so wished he could have seen the incident in question. . .by the time he met the Captain-General of Gondor, Boromir was struggling for his sanity against the Ring. And though he was the MarchWarden for The Golden Wood, devoted to his Lady and his duty, Haldir did have a sense of humor, and Legolas oft told him it was a wicked sense of humor indeed.

Oddly enough, most of Thranduilion's stories about Boromir focused on those two young hobbits. There was the story of their first meeting after Boromir reached Imladris (he was bathing, and Peregrin endeavored to steal his clothes, replacing them with hobbit clothing instead. . .and of course, dragging his slightly older cousin into the prank). Then there was the wrestling story (which, Haldir realized almost immediately, would now become the Lady's favorite as well). Boromir's care of the two on cruel Caradhras, the mountain which nearly killed them all, but especially the hobbits.

But there were other stories, stories which other members of the Fellowship shared with him. Frodo told Legolas how Boromir sought to comfort him while Legolas and Aragorn attempted to gain entrance into Lothlorien for the Fellowship. "Do not carry the weight of the dead," the Gondorian told the Ringbearer. Aye. . .twas good advice. And the hobbit did try to remember it, but by the time the War of the Ring was won, there were so many dead. Boromir. . .Gollum. . .Aragorn's kinsman Halbarad. Many of Faramir's Ithilien Rangers. Denethor. None of whom Frodo knew, aside from Boromir and Gollum. But his cousins knew the others, and their grief made Frodo grieve as well.

Legolas remembered Boromir's awkward expression of gratitude in Lothlorien. The prince saved the Man's life in Moria, keeping him from falling into an abyss. Boromir, Legolas explained, was uncomfortable with Elves, as many Men were. And from Boromir, he learned why. . .it made sense, once the Man explained it. Legolas lived a very long time. . .more than two thousand years, as opposed to the forty-one years Boromir lived. Twas quite disconcerting for a Man not raised among them, as Aragorn was. This Boromir explained after offering his awkward, but sincere, gratitude. Strange, Legolas said much later, after he and Gimli sailed to Valinor, but after all of the Fellowship passed, it was Boromir whom he came to miss most. . .something he mentioned to Haldir more than once.

There were still other stories. For instance, Gimli remembered Boromir's compassionate hand on his shoulder when they found the tomb of Gimli's cousin Balin in Moria. . .and he remembered the young warrior's fierce embrace after Gandalf fell in battle with the Balrog. Gimli, Legolas recalled with a faint smile, wanted to return to Moria. . .to avenge Gandalf, to avenge Balin, to kill as many goblins or orcs as he could find. But Boromir held firm in a warrior's embrace that both comforted and restrained. It was something Gimli never forgot, to the end of his days in Valinor.

The Lady's face grew grave as Haldir told these stories. Gimli was quite infatuated with the Lady of the Goldenwood, and she was touched by the dwarf's devotion. So touched, in fact, that after he requested a single hair from her head, she gave him three instead. She knew, as well as anyone. . .once Gimli gave his love and friendship to someone, that gift was steadfast. Even after he knew that Boromir tried to take the Ring from Frodo, Gimli's loyalty to Boromir's memory remained. Said the dwarf gruffly when asked about it, "Aye, the lad made a mistake. . .but he died savin'those two scamps. Should we remember the mistakes. . .or the triumphs? I've been told, very few have ever been able to free themselves from the Ring, and that places Boromir in exalted company indeed!"

As Haldir related this conversation, his Lady grew even more solemn. At last, she said softly, "I wonder, then. If Boromir was brought forward in time, not for ill purposes, what will happen when the rest of the Fellowship reborn learns of his arrival?" Haldir looked at his Lady, somewhat confused by the question, and she continued, "You see, I believe Boromir was brought to the current Age by design. The Nine are in the world at the same time. This is the first time in three hundred centuries that such a thing has happened. And while the Mirror will not show me his purpose, it does show me his new companions."

Yes, Haldir remembered that. The Lady told him that Boromir had three female companions, and that she was certain at least two of them were warriors. Whether they were actually warriors or the guardians of their society (police officers, as they were called now). . .well, either possibility was equally likely. He wished they had a better place to start. . .but once he and Greenleaf reached British Columbia, and began the search. . . Haldir said suddenly, as an idea occurred to him, "My Lady? Could you describe the women who are watching over Boromir? Perhaps Gabriel can help us pinpoint where he was found."

Like Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel was wary of the two younger Elves using Gabriel Wainwright's aid, but she only cautioned them. She knew. . .she understood about redemption and atonement. She understood that some could break the cycle and start anew. But unlike Legolas and Haldir, she knew Gabriel not, so she could not trust him. Haldir understood. She had Celebrian back for the last thirty thousand years, but she had never forgotten the centuries after her daughter's wounding and torture at the hands of the Orcs. . .never forgot the ache of being separated from her daughter. Though she never spoke of it, Haldir understood that she regarded him as the son she never had. . .and he would not begrudge her that worry.

Instead, she answered his question, "I will tell you what I can, Haldir, but that is very little." Haldir expected as much. And he had time. There was another hour or two before he was to meet Legolas for their evening meal. He sat quietly beside his Lady, hands clasped as she told him of the young women now watching over Boromir of Gondor. Indeed, there was precious little knowledge of the women. But Haldir could take comfort in knowing that the Gondorian was not alone. . .that he was among people who would care for him.

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He slept long and he slept deeply. But as was so often the case, it seemed it was far less than what he needed. Worse yet, his dreams were passing strange, and while dreams often made little sense (how did he know that?), these dreams were strange indeed. At the center of them was a huge lidless eye of flame. . .

A change woke him (or perhaps the dream itself?), and his eyes flew open. He gasped for breath, trembling. . .especially once he realized something felt wrong. Empty, even. He looked around, disappointed to find himself somewhat alone in his room. That was what felt empty. That was what felt wrong. It was then that he realized he was somewhat incorrect. Kristin remained with him, but the hound at his side was gone. Disappointment stabbed once more, but he reminded himself that the hound did not belong to him.

As he turned his head to look at Kristin, he noticed something different in the room. Or rather, perhaps it was there all along, and this was simply the first time he noticed. In truth, during his previous times of wakefulness, he was too busy noticing other things. But this. . .it was a large box, sitting high on the wall, and Kristin was staring at it with great interest. He could actually understand why. . .the box had moving pictures inside of it! What was this extraordinary thing? Kristin looked back at him, and smiled warmly. He smiled back, then raised his uninjured arm (which still caused pains to shoot through his chest and the rest of his torso, but he ignored those), and pointed at the strange box with a questioning look.

She followed the direction of his hand, and smiled broadly. Kristin nodded to the box and said, enunciating very clearly, "Tee-vee." Teevee. What, exactly, did a teevee do? Something danced in the back of his mind, about something similar, but slipped away with just a whisper. Mykal stared at the teevee in fascination. There were people inside the box! How truly amazing! A strange thought occurred to him then. The people living inside the box continued their lives, as if unaware that someone was watching them. He wondered, too, if someone could see him. . .and he decided that he thoroughly disliked that idea!

Mykal eventually looked away, for the teevee was making his head throb. Instead, he returned his attention to Kristin, and wondered how to ask about the hound, as well as about Meg and Aylayna. Hesitantly, he patted the side of the bed where the hound. . .Nico, wasn't it? Yes, Nico. . .where he was lying only a short time ago. When Kristin looked confused, Mykal tried again, this time, using the names he was now remembering, "Nico? Meg? Aylayna?" Where had they gone? He was unconcerned about the loud female, the one who treated Kristin badly. She mattered not at all to him.

Kristin understood his second attempt and replied. At least, he thought she did. However, he understood her not. She obviously realized this, for an expression of chagrin replaced her smile. The girl hesitated briefly, then her eyes lit up, as if she had an idea. And she did! She pressed the palms of her hands together, then leaned her head to one side and pressed the back of her hand against her cheek. It took him a moment to understand. . .sleep! Meg and Aylayna returned to their home, then, and took Nico with them. Looking outside, he understood why. It was becoming dark outside, and unsafe for young ladies to be about. She followed that motion with another. . .drawing her lightly clenched fist toward her mouth. He was growing tired once more, but he was alert enough to realize that. . .it meant eating.

Food. When was the last time he ate? To his own chagrin, he realized he didn't remember the last time he ate. However. . .could he eat? He shook his head, regretting it almost instantly as his head ached unbearably. Something seemed wrong here. . .well, more than just a single thing. But as he spent more time awake, he began to remember of what happened since he awakened. And now, the questions returned. Should he not be dead? Some instinct warned that a wound to his belly should have been fatal. Yet, here he was. . .alive. Weak and exhausted, aye, but alive nonetheless. He was grateful for it, of course. Even with the loss of his memories, he was grateful to be alive. But. . .how did he survive whatever happened to him? And given his wound, was it even possible for him to eat? Well, if he was alive, why not? Surely, if he could not eat, he would be dying now, would he not?

Another healer entered the room, with what he thought was a tray of food. This new healer, a man, and Kristin conferred for a few moments, then the girl smiled. Mykal found that he was reassured when she smiled. At the same time, so did the smiles of her sister and Aylayna, though he knew them for a far shorter amount of time. The lass walked back to his bed and touched something on the side. To Mykal's shock and somewhat to his terror, he found the bed moving, taking him with it! This was the first time such a thing happened, and Mykal liked it not at all! However, as it ceased, he discovered that he was sitting upright. . .or, perhaps, more properly, reclining. Kristin pulled a board in front of him, and the second healer placed the tray on the board. Now he understood! Somewhat, at least.

Kristin sat down on the bed beside him and picked up the utensils sitting beside the tray. He had no idea what she meant to do, not at first, then understanding dawned, and he cursed himself for being eight kinds of a fool. He hadn't the strength to feed himself, not yet, at least, and much as he hated being fed like a child, Mykal was sensible enough to recognize that it would be necessary. He opened his mouth obediently and Kristin began spooning the food (mush?) into his mouth. It hardly qualified as swill, but he knew he tasted better in his life. On the other hand, he also tasted worse. And he _was _quite hungry.

As he took in each mouthful, Mykal once more studied the room he occupied. It was mostly white in color, though there were pretty enough paintings of seascapes. Meant, no doubt, to be restful and peaceful. He remembered such scenery from. . . Mykal's memory failed him then, and to prevent the now-familiar fear from returning, he focused his attention instead on the other items in the room. Each time he woke up, the healer Ronan (why did Mykal think he had another name once?) tested him on items in the room, the new words he was taught. Each time he woke up, he remembered a little more about his previous periods of alertness. He knew several words. . .but several words was not an entire language.

To the right of the bed was a goodly-sized window, and not for the first time, Mykal wondered what lay outside. Was he in a city? Somehow, he thought so. He heard few noises, but the noises he did hear were unlikely for a small village. Kristin touched his cheek, drawing his attention back to her. He ate around half of the food, perhaps a little less, and he was growing tired once more. Aye, when was he not tired? It seemed like he was barely awake longer than an hour before he began falling asleep once more. That odd feeling was returning. . .that strange knowing, and not remembering how he knew. . . twas there once more. Somehow, he knew that this exhaustion was part and parcel of recovery. But he could not remember _how_ he knew.

Kristin rose to her feet and picked up the tray at the same time. She must have done it often in the past. With one hand still holding the tray, she pressed the side of his bed once more and Mykal's bed began to move once more. This time, it surprised him less, but it was still an most odd feeling. The bed seemed to. . .well. . .vibrate under him. But he could not deny that it was actually more comfortable, forcing the bed to do the work for him. The bed changed positions, so he need not do so.

He closed his eyes, sighing a little. For once, the motion didn't send spasms of pain surging through his body. Twas something for which to be thankful. Beside him, he heard Kristin shift in her seat. . .a moment after that, he felt her fingers slipping through his hair. It soothed him, and he began drifting toward sleep. Perhaps the next time he awakened, he would have more than just a whisper of a memory. Perhaps. . .

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After the meeting with the town leaders, Lydia Anders took a few hours to drive into the countryside surrounding Campbell. She desperately needed the time away. . .the drive would calm her down, and she was rather lax in keeping a promise she made a few months earlier. Her journey took her to a dirt road, and an old farmhouse. This was the home of Regine Farrell, the mother of Mayor Tom Farrell and the grandmother of young Brendan Farrell. Lydia smiled. There was a story to this house. And like her daughter, Lydia loved old houses. . .she loved the stories behind them even more. This house had a rich history. And that was one of the reasons she was here today. The other reason. . . well, the other reason. . .

Brendan was on the front porch, steadily painting the window frames. His back was to her, but she would have recognized his frame anywhere. He was short, like his mother before him, and slender. The only things he inherited from his father were his bright blue eyes, and his dark hair. Lydia honked and the young man turned, his thin, too-serious face lighting up as he saw her car. He waved to her frantically, nearly smearing himself with paint in the meantime. Six months earlier, as Brendan's life began to spin out of control, he shut out both his father and his grandmother. His mother died years earlier, and Lydia. . . Well, Lydia missed her daughter as keenly Brendan missed his mother. Over the years, she saw and did things that hardened her.

But Brendan was suffering from nightmares that prevented him from sleeping. He could never bring himself to talk about those dreams, but he admitted that they began when he was eighteen. Around the same time he started getting into trouble. He was exhausted as a result of the dreams, and to deaden his heart, he drank. The youngster was on his way to truly serious trouble when Lydia encountered him in a bar, all those months ago. Along with his exhaustion was something else. Rage.

Lydia could do nothing about his dreams, or his exhaustion, but one thing she did know. Manual labor was a good way of dispelling rage. She had a few quiet words with Regine Farrell, who admitted that there was an old house in the family. She wanted to restore it, as did Tom, but neither had the time. . .and Regine hadn't the strength. It would take a great deal of work. Built in 1826 by Regine's ancestor, it remained in the family for nearly two hundred years. Regine, and her brother Antoine, were both raised in that house. But with her brother's death, forty years earlier, it fell into disrepair.

It was the perfect project for a troubled young man, and Brendan attacked the restoration with the rage which so concerned Lydia. One problem led to the easing of another. . .with his tireless work on his ancestral home, the dreams became far less frequent. Still troubling, but he had them in control. . .rather than the other way around. Then Regine decided to make things even more interesting. She wanted the house restored. . .modernize it, as much as possible, but keep the furnishings and the look as true to the original as possible. It required a great deal of research and inventive thinking.

While they worked on the house, the three generations of the Farrell family lived in the trailer beside the house. . .the same trailer where Lydia always parked. She cut the engine and undid her safety belt, before slipping out of the car. Locking it was utterly unnecessary here. Besides, it was a bit of an insult to the family. Brendan greeted her with, "You came! Gran will be thrilled, Lydia! Did you by chance see my father while you were in town?" His blue eyes danced with laughter, and Lydia gave him a mock-glare which only set him to laughing once more.

"You're smarter than that, Brendan!" she scolded as she mounted the steps to embrace the young man. Lydia was rewarded with a mischievous grin, which was so much like the smile she sometimes saw decorating the face of Brendan's father, it made her heart beat double time. And that reminded her. . .she still owed Tom for that little stunt today. Firing a mischievous grin of her own back at the college student, she added, "Oh, and give your father a hard time for me the next time you see him. He worked his usual magic in the meeting this afternoon."

The smile faded slowly from Brendan's face as he asked softly, "Was it about Bethany?" She nodded, and Brendan went on, "You know, she was just a few years behind me in school. I still can't believe she's dead." Lydia squeezed his shoulder gently, and Brendan sighed, sounding more than a little disjointed, "I keep thinking about when we were in school. . .she was always so nice. Everybody says that she looks like Kristin Rafferty, and I suppose she does. . .she did. . .but I always thought she acted more like Megan Rafferty."

Now that was a comparison she never heard before, and Lydia looked at her companion quizzically. The college student explained, "I guess because Bethany and Detective Rafferty were both. . .I dunno. . .shy when they were younger? Bethany. . .she never really saw herself as being pretty, and Detective Rafferty was the same way. I suppose she still is, but she's better at hiding it. Gran always says that it's to be expected, since Kristin and Elena are both gorgeous. And they are. . .it just. . . I never thought about. . .well, never mind, it isn't that important." Lydia thought briefly about pressing her young friend, then decided against it. And it was just as well, for Brendan was opening the door for her and calling out, "Gran! Lydia is here!"

Regine Dennison Farrell, or Jean, exited the kitchen. She was a small woman, standing no more than five feet tall, and looked more than a little incongruous standing beside her six foot five inch son. The daughter of a World War I veteran and his French bride, Regine was born and raised here in North Carolina, and she traced her ancestry back to prior to the American Revolution. Her roots here were deep, and like many daughters of the South, she was ferociously proud of her heritage.

Her new home reflected this pride. Even now, after so many visits to the old Dennison homestead, Lydia couldn't get over the way they balanced the old and the new. The basic structure remained the same. Where possible, period furniture was used. However, there was electricity and running water, Internet access, and of course, that most basic necessity for life in the South during the summer, air conditioning. The diminutive woman beamed at Lydia, saying in her soft North Carolina drawl, "I'm glad to see ya, Captain! Brendan, honey, go to the kitchen and get lemonade!"

The youngster made himself scarce, but not before kissing his grandmother's cheek. Lydia knew, of course, that the 'request' for lemonade was also a barely disguised demand for him to wash up. There was a bathroom off the kitchen, and just off that bathroom were stairs to the second floor. When he returned, Brendan would be in a fresh t-shirt, his hair neatly combed, and he would be carrying two glasses of lemonade. Regine tucked her hand into Lydia's elbow and said, steering her to the sofa, "He'll be a while. . . tell me everythin' that's new!"

Lydia sat down, once more admiring the room. While Tom and Brendan worked on the structure of the house, Regine took care of the decoration. . .and she had many of her mother and paternal grandmother's pieces of furniture. One thing, however, always stood out when she visited. Two things, actually. One was the stone fireplace opposite her and Regine (and after her first Carolina winter, she didn't question the need for it). The second thing sat above that very fireplace. . .a pair of crossed swords. Regine said quietly, "One sword is from the Revolution, the other one is from the War Between the States. And yes, I had ancestors who fought in both. In the War Between the States, I had ancestors who fought on both sides."

The police captain looked at her quickly, and the older woman continued, "Actually, I had ancestors who fought on both sides during the Revolution. When the colonists won, the Tories went up to Canada for a time. Now. Do tell me what my son has done this time. You have that look, Lydia. . .the one that says you aren't sure if you should strangle Tom. . .or kiss him senseless." The police captain felt her face burning, and Regine snorted, "Oh, for heaven's sake, Lydia! We're both grown women, and I can tell by the way you look at my son that you're attracted to him. Of course you are! He's a very handsome man!"

Lydia had to smile at the maternal pride that was obvious in the last sentence. Regine continued, "I don't know if I ever told you. . .Tom looks like my daddy." In a somewhat louder voice, she told her grandson, "Take your time, honey. . .I'm gonna show Lydia a picture of your great-granddaddy!" With that, she seized Lydia's hand and pulled her upright once more, leading her to the second staircase. The blonde woman made a face. . .she _hated _these stairs! They were steep and they were narrow. Still, she gamely followed her hostess.

_Oh Lord have mercy_. It was Tom's bedroom. She could tell it immediately. For one thing, it smelled of his cologne. . .or was it aftershave? Whatever. It smelled like him. Then she saw the picture sitting on his chest of drawers, and her heart skipped a beat. It was Tom, only about twenty, maybe twenty-five years, younger. Regine said softly, "My daddy. Sergeant Richard Dennison. It's one of Tom's prized possessions. It was taken when Daddy went into the army for the Great War. He was twenty-two years old." She traced the lines of the man's face with infinite tenderness.

Lydia was on the verge of speaking, though she had no idea what to say. Despite what Regine said earlier, the police captain really didn't think commenting on Richard Dennison's good looks was wise. That was still her father, after all. Just like Tom was still her son. And she was spared the necessity of saying anything, when her cell began ringing. She offered Regine an apologetic smile and removed her phone from her bag, answering on the second ring, "Anders."

"Captain, it's us. We're getting ready to head back to the extended, so we'll call you when we get there," Elena Gutierrez said. Extend. . .oh. Oh, of course. The mysterious case that had Kristin Rafferty's panties in a bunch. Immediately, Lydia chastised herself for being so uncharitable. Gutierrez and Rafferty were helping the Raleigh police, and Lydia was enough of a politician (_perish the thought_!) to recognize that there might come a time when the Campbell PD would need the aid of their big-city brethren. She told her two detectives to take their time and drive safely, then hung up.

"Elena and Meg?" Regine guessed as Lydia put away her cell phone. The younger woman wasn't sure to be worried or relieved. It was rare that Regine didn't know what was going on around here. Lydia nodded, and Regine continued, "Tom called me at lunch time, told me about that poor girl, and that he planned to have a few words with those old farts in the town council, bless their hearts." It was all Lydia could do to keep from laughing, not just at the rhyming, but at the sentiments expressed. Regine added with some asperity, "And not a word about how I'm supposed to be a lady!"

Lydia simply waved her hands mutely, still grinning, and Regine continued, "Well, all right then. Now, tell me the latest gossip in town. You can't tell me that Dalton Robeson is the only news in town?" Lydia just laughed. It wasn't funny. . .really, it wasn't. But at the same time, it was. Regine was absolutely right. Dalton Robeson and his crime was certainly the top news story, but it wasn't the only one. She decided to answer the question with a recap of the week as a whole. . .because even before Bethany Lawson's mutilated body was found, there were plenty of things going on.

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Megan was huddled against the passenger side door, and Nico was curled up in the backseat. As Elena drove back to the extended stay, she thought once more about what little they accomplished. On the other hand. . .well, maybe things worked out better than she thought. After all, wasn't eliminating possibilities part of police work? Yes. . .yes, it was. Ask the question, get it answered, so you can move onto another possibility. Still, she wished they knew more than they did. Still, to be fair, this was their first day of the investigation. And they really didn't have much to go on.

She sighed quietly and Megan asked, her voice equally quiet, "Are you all right?" Elena looked at her friend, smiling wryly. But Megan just returned the look, never blinking, her face solemn. Well, it was worth a try. Unfortunately, Meg sometimes had a one-track mind. When she was concerned about someone, it was damn near impossible to distract her. The question for Elena was, why was Megan concerned? Her friend added after a moment, "Look, I may have been selfish today, but that doesn't mean I don't think about what the consequences were to you." Selfish. . .consequences?

Then it hit her, and Elena shook her head almost angrily, replying, "Now you're being una idiota. You haven't been selfish. . .not even close. Who was it that reminded me to eat this afternoon? Who was it that noticed that I was getting a headache? You would have never picked up on that, if you were focused only on yourself. Don't do this to yourself, amiga. I know you feel guilty about not getting to Bethany before that pieza de mierda. . .I do, too. But don't go down that road."

Nico stirred in the backseat, and Megan was silent for a long time. At last, she replied softly, "I don't want to. But every time I think I have a handle on this, the second-guessing starts again. Did I miss some detail. . .was there something I could have done to save that girl? God, Elena. . .maybe. . .she hadn't been dead that long when we found her!" No. No, she hadn't been dead long at all. And maybe it was just as well that Elena went through this last night with herself. Oh, she was still struggling with it. But she wasn't as close to the atrocity as Meg was. And she learned the hard way, years earlier, when Megan was struggling with guilt over some professional 'failure,' not to ask if Meg thought Elena failed as well. Meg blinked at her, then replied, '_Why would I think that? That's between you and your own conscience_.' Point taken. It wasn't about what Elena could have done. . .it was about what Megan could have done, because that was something she could control. To a point.

And the rest of this? Well, it was typical of her friend. . .put up barriers until she could deal with something. Not that Elena had much room to talk, especially not when they were in the middle of a bizarre case like this one. With that in mind, she finally replied, "Maybe we could have saved her. But maybe we couldn't have. Maybe we would have gotten there just as she died. Remember that. We. You and I. We're a team. . .and we both did our jobs. Maybe not perfectly, but we're not perfect. We're human beings. But we did do our jobs. And because we did our jobs, that hijo de una perra is behind bars, right where he belonged. Because we did our jobs, the prosecutor is looking at what should be an airtight case. The only one responsible for Bethany Lawson's death. . .is behind bars."

Another sigh, then Megan replied, "I know that. I do. In my mind, I know that. But, in my heart, and sometimes, in my soul. . ." She fell silent, and Elena didn't press her. Instead, she focused on the road. While she drove in the capital city from time to time, she wasn't comfortable driving in it after dark. She did her best to remain focused on the task at hand. They would do Michael no good if they were in the hospital (or worse). The travelers were nearing the extended stay, when Megan spoke again, "I think she's jealous of us." Huh? Her partner elaborated, "Detective Madsen. I think she's jealous of us."

Oooohkay. . .Elena had no idea where that came from, but she wouldn't argue with the change of subject. Megan went on, "She's jealous of us, because Detective Aubrey was more relaxed with us. She didn't like that very much. She's his partner, he's supposed to be like that with her. While you two were talking, and she was standing over me, she said something to the effect of, '_I don't know why he's even listening to a pair of hayseeds_.' That was when I stood up_." Hayseeds, was it_? _Never mind_. She would deal with that later. Megan continued, her voice taking on a humorous note, "I told her, '_maybe he listens to us, because we listen to him_.' And then I walked away."

So that was what that was all about! Elena had to admit, the comeback wasn't bad at all. No, it wasn't a zinger or a witty one-liner, but Elena had a gut feeling that it was something that would return to Christine Madsen's mind often over the next few days. It was so simple. . . devastatingly so. At first, she would deny it. After all, what would a hayseed from the rural South know? But when she least expected it, it would return to her mind. And she would wonder. . .is it possible? Could she be right? Megan added, "Of course, I added, '_oh, and you'll find that we hayseeds have faxes, emails, and this funky little thing called 'the Internet_.' She just scowled at me, and that's when I walked away. She needs to lose that attitude, but I'll leave that up to her partner."

"It's why he's there," Elena answered agreeably as she pulled into her space. Or rather, what she was coming to think of as her parking space. In ten minutes, the engine was turned off, all three were out, the doors were locked, and the trio headed inside. There was no conversation between the humans, though Nico whined ever so often. He probably needed to answer nature's call, and Elena observed, "Go on up to the room. . .I'll take care of Nico. And he'll watch out for me." This was in answer to her partner's unspoken worry. After all, a lone woman, after dark. . .even at an Extended Stay. . .it was best to be cautious as the sun went down during the early winter hours. But Elena knew Nico wouldn't let anything happen to her. Megan still looked worried, but she nodded her agreement and removed her keycard from her purse.

"All right. Fifteen minutes. If you and Nico aren't back after that, I will come looking for you, with hotel security," Megan replied. Actually, Elena couldn't decide if that was a promise or a warning. It really didn't matter, when you came right down to it. The point was, she knew Megan enough to realize her partner would do just that. She might not even wait fifteen minutes, since they were in an unfamiliar setting. . .at least half of the reason for her discomfort. Besides, it was Elena's plan to stay just outside the door, where there was plenty of lighting. Sure, she was a cop, but she didn't plan on taking any unnecessary chances. Her partner added, "And in the meantime, I'll call for a pizza. The usual?"

"In case I haven't told you lately, you rock. Fifteen minutes it is. . .and maybe we could try to heat up those poor turnovers Johanna sent with us this morning?" Elena suggested. Megan winked at her, making Elena smile in turn. Good. That was the first sign of her friend's normal spirit in quite some time. It was good to see. She nudged the dog toward the 'doggie grounds,' and Nico immediately perked up. It was all Elena could do to keep from smiling outright. Poor dog. . .he had been so patient with them today. Though, in truth, he had it fairly easy. . .he stayed with Michael. And as for Michael. Well. It had been a long time since she had a puzzle to unravel in such an attractive package. As in. . .say. . . never?

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Dad was worried about him. So was Gran. Sometimes, it seemed that the only one who didn't look at him with concern was Captain Anders. That was reason enough to want her around. Even if she didn't remind him of his mother, that would be reason enough for Brendan Farrell. And it wasn't that he was ungrateful for the concern (and love) of his father and grandmother. On the contrary. He adored them both, especially now, after working on the house with Dad, and listening to Gran's stories about her family. It made him feel connected to this world. But he hated that they worried about him. More than that, he hated that he gave them reason to worry about him.

Captain Anders did worry about him, but she had a different reason to worry. The trouble was, she didn't know the half of it. He told her about some of his nightmares. Some. Not all. She didn't know about the ghostly pain in his shoulder, and in the back of his neck. She also didn't know that the dreams began with his eighteenth birthday. . . his coming of age, in many ways, in many societies. She didn't know that thanks to the terrible clarity of his dreams, Brendan had come to believe in reincarnation. He also believed. . .knew. . .that he was the reincarnation of a tiny being named, 'Frodo Baggins.'

This 'Frodo' wasn't a man. He had pointed ears (like an elf, something whispered in the back of his mind) and furry feet. He wasn't a man. But he couldn't remember _what_ he was, aside from 'Frodo Baggins, Frodo of the Nine Fingers.' Some memories were clear as day, as clear as the last time he saw his mother, so many years earlier. Memories of a wise old man named 'Gandalf,' of a true friend named 'Sam' were especially clear. So, too, were memories of a protector named 'Strider,' and of a loving uncle named 'Bilbo.' There were odd memories, of living in a hole under the ground, or something similar, and dragon-shaped fireworks at a party. There were frightening memories of being stabbed by a ghostly figure, and the all-too-real pain that resulted from that stabbing wound. . .and of a blond-haired man with green eyes, a friend destroyed by something far greater. . .and lesser. . .than himself. Brendan was always most agitated when he had those dreams.

Coupled with the fear, that this man would overwhelm him, take something that he, Frodo, was entrusted with. . .was another emotion. Pity. No. Not pity. Compassion. Horror that such a terrible thing was happening to this man. Brendan, upon waking up, always wanted to weep for that man. Even as he feared him, even as he urged himself not to trust. . .he wanted to weep for that man, because once, he was far different. But that different man never made an appearance in Brendan's dreams. It was wrong, he knew, but if that man appeared in his life today, Brendan would think twice. . .three times even. . .before trusting him.

Sighing, Brendan turned his attention back to the glasses of lemonade waiting on the kitchen counter. Why he looked at them, he didn't know. . .it wasn't as if they would do anything. But maybe that was the point. He just needed to look at something like that. Focus his mind, his attention, on something other than his memories. . .his dreams. Whatever you wanted to call them. Focus on something other than Bethany Lawson's murder, though that was hard to do. Everyone in Campbell was talking about it. Talking about her. Bethany would have hated that. Brendan shook his head, smiling faintly. But the smile didn't last long. As he told his grandmother and Lydia, he knew Bethany Lawson. What he didn't tell them was how much it hurt, losing his friend.

It seemed so odd, to so many people, that someone as pretty as Bethany could be so self-conscious. Brendan had known her since they were both children. . .she was his greatest confidante after his mother's death, and in turn, she told him what she saw when she looked in the mirror. It wasn't anything special, at least not from her point of view. Her mother, Kim, was gorgeous, as so many Eurasian women were, with her Vietnamese mother and French father. Even at an early age, it was clear to all that Bethany would possess the same beauty as her mother. Bethany could see her mother's beauty, but her own was hidden from her.

So, as young girls sometimes will do, she turned her attention to other things. In her mind, she would never be as beautiful as her mother. . .so she studied as hard as she could. What he told Captain Anders earlier was true. . .in terms of attitude and personality and behavior, Bethany was more like Megan Rafferty than Kristin. What he didn't mention was that it was Bethany's choice. The young girl looked up to the cop. She genuinely wanted to be like Megan Rafferty, even if they followed different career paths. And as devastated as he was by Bethany's murder, Brendan took comfort in knowing that out of the two cops who found her, and then caught her murderer. . .one of them was her heroine. He wondered if he should tell Detective Rafferty that. Maybe later. Maybe when it didn't hurt so much.

Brendan wasn't sure how he knew that. It was just. . .there. Like his memories of Frodo, of being Frodo. Well, on the other hand. . .maybe being a cop's son had something to do with it as well. He was in his early teens when his father left the force to run for mayor, and he remembered some of the more unpleasant aspects of his father's job. Brendan knew he was understating things. . .calling those nights 'unpleasant.' That was a friggin' understatement. He remembered nights, especially after his mom died, when his father would come home from work. . .just sit down beside the aquarium that was an anniversary gift from Mom. . .and cry softly. Sometimes it was because of a drunk driving accident that killed a child. Other times, it was a kidnapping in a nearby town, in which the victim was a wife and mother.

There was one devastating situation in particular, in which a mother of three was abducted at gunpoint from a grocery store. She was the same age Brendan's mother was when she was killed. . .only thirty-seven. Fortunately, she survived and went home to her family. Thanks, in no small part, to Thomas Farrell, who was driven to bring her home safely to her family. After that, his father seemed to be more at peace. Almost as if helping to free the woman brought him a closure he didn't have before with the loss of his wife. Or maybe, in a weird sort of way. . .it was redemption for his father. He took his wife's death very hard, even harder than Brendan in some respects, and couldn't forgive himself for failing to protect the woman he loved so much.

Redemption. Thomas Farrell wasn't the only member of the family looking for it. Gran had secrets, just like Mrs. Watkins did. And Brendan himself. The secrets of being Frodo Baggins, once upon a time. But those were for another day. Right now, he had two lemonade glasses to deliver. And even if his grandmother and Lydia weren't ready for them, that wasn't the point. His grandmother asked him to do something. A gentleman didn't let a lady down, and Brendan Farrell was raised as a gentleman.

And maybe, once he could control his anger and grief, he would talk about the Bethany Lawson he knew. The girl who dreamed of being an archaeologist, who loved movies, junk food, and amusement parks. . .who loved Campbell, but ached to travel, as her mother had. There was so much more to Bethany than her beauty and the ugliness of her murder. She was insatiably curious, always wanting to learn more. There was so much she wanted to see, and be, and do (and why did that sound so terribly familiar to him?). He wanted to talk about, wanted to remember, that Bethany.

Brendan picked up the tray, carefully balancing it as he headed into the front room. Maybe he would tell Captain Anders about Bethany, the Bethany he knew. At the very least, it would divert Gran's attention away from her worry about him. . .at the very least, it would divert his own attention away from his dreams, his memories, and why they seemed to be growing in intensity, and in detail. The dream he had, the previous night, was the most detailed yet. And that frightened him. Brendan was reaching a point where he didn't believe in coincidences. His dreams were trying to tell him something. The question was. . .what?

Translations:

hijo de una perra: son of a bitch.


	8. Welcome Distractions

All right, another chapter! Not too many author's notes this time. There is, indeed, a Sayre, Oklahoma. . .tis the location of the family farm where my mother spent her summers as a child. While perusing one of my many name books, I learned that (at least according to this name book), it's a Welsh name. While it was listed among the masculine names, I thought it was just as likely for a little girl born in the South to have.

Also, because this has happened before. . .while the name 'Craig' has become more popular over the last thirty to forty years, I've found usage as far back as the late nineteenth century. Uhm. . .I think that will do it for this time. Hope you enjoy the chapter, and it was worth the wait. And, as always, let me know if you spot a mistake!

Chapter Seven

Welcome Distractions

Well! This was a most unexpected development! Though Pelagia would likely be called a demi-goddess by those who studied such things, even she could be surprised. She would be the first to admit that. Just as she would also be the first to admit that her human champions were most often the ones who surprised her. Just when she thought she knew everything there was to know about a human. . .they surprised her! That could be for both good and for ill. Usually, however, it was for the good, as Pelagia made it a practice to expect the worst, even out of her chosen ones. They were, after all, only human.

Never was this more apparent than the night before, when they apprehended the foul being who had murdered that child. And never was Pelagia more proud of her two champions than when they arrived at the local gaol with their prisoner not only in one piece, but in remarkably pristine condition. No one. . .not even Pelagia herself. . .could have blamed either of them for following their hearts, their very instincts, and slaughtering him with the same mercy he demonstrated to young Bethany. But they abided with their training, instead of their instincts, and because of that, they were still free to protect the citizens of Campbell. There was a part of each young woman. . .just as there was a part of Pelagia. . .that wished they had killed him. Neither entirely trusted the courts to do the right thing. But they had done their job, and done it well. It was now time for others to do their jobs.

And then there was the time, just short while ago, when Megan disarmed that foolish man who had taken the hostages in a department store. He was foolish, not only for that action, but for mistaking Megan's. . .reserve. . .for weakness. Why did people do that? Megan was quiet, but she most assuredly was not weak! Though Pelagia could not deny that the girl used that misconception to her benefit. Perhaps that was what she found most surprising of all. Her Champions had an unerring gift for turning perceived weaknesses into strengths.

That was neither here nor there. Pelagia expected the unexpected from her mortals. The First-born, on the other hand. . .well, that was another story. She shook her head, once more in spirit form, as she listened to the conversation between Haldir and the Lady of the Golden Wood. The surprise came not from that sweet young Elf, Haldir, but from Galadriel. . .or Artanis. . .or whatever you wished to call her. Never in an eternity would Pelagia have guessed that Galadriel could fall victim to the curse of self-doubt. Never would she have guessed such a thing.

Though, perhaps, that was a mistake. After all, Galadriel knew the bitter shame of lethal mistakes. She was no longer the impulsive child Pelagia once knew. Eons passed since their last meeting face-to-face. And the time was coming once more for them to encounter each other. Just. . .not today. Or tomorrow. Satisfied that Haldir had matters under control, Pelagia saw to her champions next. Things were peaceful, at least for the moment. She was entirely too familiar with this world, and with this time, to think that would last long. For the moment, Boromir was fast asleep. Unfortunately, due to the traumas of his previous life, it was only a matter of time before he remembered that past. Already, the memories were pushing through.

Small things, yes. But the smallest things could do the most damage, as Boromir learned to his sorrow. Pelagia frowned, wondering if she should enhance the barriers holding back his memories. However, after a brief consideration, she chose not. It was her understanding that humans with amnesia often had flashes of memory. No, she would meddle no further. At least, not with Boromir, or her other champions. After all, they were her Champions, and while she could help them along, she also had to trust them. Olorin and Galadriel, on the other hand. . . Well, she would make her presence known to them sooner or later. That was necessary.

Her attention wandered to Kristin Rafferty, who was being nudged from Boromir's room by Ronan Daly. She seemed unwilling to leave, though she knew it necessary. Pelagia silently blessed the doctor for his gentle insistence. Kristin, like her two older sisters, needed to rest. . .and she would be unable to help Boromir if she was past the point of exhaustion. And so far as Pelagia was concerned, Elena was as much Kristin's sister as Megan. Like her older sister and her parents, Elena was a fixture in the young girl's life as she grew to womanhood. Elena was family, also. And that brought her back to her two final champions in the American South.

Just as she promised her partner, Elena was awaiting Nicodemus just inside the clear glass door. Not that Pelagia was surprised. . .Elena was a sensible young woman, after all. The detective smiled as the dog pranced toward her, his tail wagging fiercely. Pelagia oft heard it said that when a dog's tail was wagging that enthusiastically, the tail was actually wagging the dog. As she watched Nico happily approach the younger detective, Pelagia could see the truth in that particular saying. She smiled. He truly was one of her champions. There was, after all, no Law which said Champions only had to be human.

The police officer and the dog made their way back to the lobby, and then to the elevator which would return them to the floor where they would sleep. . .and where Megan waited. In the time since the friends parted company, Megan accomplished a few things herself. And now, she was working on that poster for baby Lacey, the six-month-old daughter of a high school classmate of hers and Elena. Both partners utterly doted on Lacey, to the point of spoiling her.

But Lacey's mother, a young single woman, didn't object. Damaris was struggling to raise Lacey on her own, which was complicated by her recent lay-off. She had been unemployed for nearly six weeks. . .but she wasn't alone. Captain Anders employed her for a time at the department, when members of the support staff were sick. . .a local contractor did the same when his computer crashed. To save money, Damaris reused the water and soda bottles, refilling them with tap water. Thinking of the young single mother reminded Pelagia why she placed Boromir with these people. He needed them. Just as much as they needed him.

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Captain Lydia Anders stepped out into the cool night air, lifting her face and inhaling deeply. She enjoyed her visits with Regine Farrell. . .she always had, from the first moment she met the older woman. In some ways, Jean was the very image she had of a modern Southern belle. The antebellum dresses she remembered from _Gone with the Wind_ were missing, of course, but there was far more to being a Southern belle than wearing dresses from the 1860's or 1870's and drinking mint julep. Come to think of it, in the five years since she moved here from New Jersey, she hadn't met anyone who drank mint julep. Sweet tea, on the other hand. . .

Well, like the South in general, sweet tea was an acquired taste. She really didn't know what to expect when she took the job five years earlier. Neither did her daughter, Stephanie, then a mulish fifteen year old with an attitude to match. Steph was likely expecting Mayberry, and it wasn't an unfair assessment, since Mayberry was based on an actual town in North Carolina. What she got was a town of about ten thousand people. . . a cinema, a mall. All the amenities which made or broke a town for a teenage girl. Maybe the Campbell Mall wasn't the Mall of America, but there was just one of those.

They quickly found all of their assumptions challenged. There were still Southern belles, though none of them were anything like Scarlett O'Hara. They tended to be older ladies. . .the generation of Megan Rafferty's grandmother, for instance. They showed pride in their heritage, even when it wasn't politically correct. There was cotton in North Carolina, but there were few cotton fields in or around Campbell. People did, indeed, wear shoes. (Lydia herself never heard that particular myth, but on the other hand, few things surprised her any more.) And even in a small town like Campbell, there were whites, blacks, Latinos, and Asians. Perhaps that was what surprised Steph most of all.

The mother and daughter quickly came to learn that the people of Campbell were quite willing to accept newcomers. Just so long as those newcomers accepted the town and the people. That was another surprise to Lydia and Stephanie Anders. The quiet way in which the townspeople accepted them. No fuss, no muss.

Now, like small towns all over the continent, they were wary of strangers. Not because they were afraid of outsiders or the trouble they would bring. . .but because they learned the hard way that they were regarded as backwards and unintelligent. To the so-called elite in the big cities (such as New York or Chicago), only backwards idiots lived in small towns. . .intelligent people, sophisticated people, lived in the large cities. Well, maybe some of the wariness did come from concern over problems spilling over from the cities into the small towns. But as Lydia herself knew, people from the city often looked down on people who lived in rural areas.

Was the converse true? In some respects, she discovered. Maybe one was caused by the other. Those people in the Big City who considered rural inhabitants backward and unsophisticated (when they bothered to think about them at all) were viewed by the denizens of Campbell as stuck-up snobs. Not people whom they wanted to know. And while few in Campbell would claim to be sophisticated, they had no interest in such a claim. These were proud people. . .proud, self-reliant, and resourceful. As Megan Rafferty's late maternal grandmother told her when she first arrived in Campbell, given a choice between resourceful and sophisticated, the people of this town would choose resourceful every time.

Lydia smiled a bit wistfully as she walked to her car. A porch light turned on behind her, lighting her path, and she turned back to look at the house she just left. It was no longer a surprise to her, to find both Regine Farrell and her grandson standing on the porch, watching over her. Watching out for her. She actually met Jean through Rafferty's grandmother, Sayre Landry McFarlane. Born in the Oklahoma town for which she was named, Sayre moved to North Carolina as a girl, where she married and raised her only child, Ailsa. When her granddaughter Kristin was five years old, Sayre returned to her hometown, where she lived until her elder granddaughter graduated from college. Perhaps realizing that she only had a few more years with her grandchildren, this daughter of the dustbowl returned once more to the state that was her second home.

It was Sayre, along with her dearest friend Jean, who guided Lydia through her first year as the police captain for Campbell. In some ways, she was the antithesis of Jean, who appeared to be the consummate Southern belle at first. . .Sayre was ribald, sassy, and could make both her daughter and her older granddaughter blush. She was eighty-six years old when she died. . .watched her husband go off to war and return changed by the concentration camps he helped to liberate. She buried that same husband in the late 1970's, when her granddaughter Megan was only six years old. Craig McFarlane never spoke of what horrors he saw during the war. . . and if he did speak of it, it was to his wife. She never told, either.

Sayre was a contradiction in many ways. The same woman who could make her granddaughter blush with ribald remarks, had no hesitation in administering a verbal smackdown when she was offended. Of course, she was usually offended when someone spoke of her daughter or grandchildren in disparaging terms. Sayre was almost viciously protective when it came to her Ailsa, Megan, and Kristin. And that was exactly how she spoke of them. . .they were 'my Ailsa' or 'my Megan' or 'my Kristin.' After the death of her husband, those three were the center of Sayre's world. She did love her son-in-law, but he wasn't of her blood. Technically, neither was Kristin, but. . . Sayre was a contradiction, after all.

Stephanie had adored her. Sayre was so utterly different from what she expected, maybe Lydia should have expected it. Besides, Lydia was divorced. . .Steph had very little contact with her father and his family, and Lydia's own parents were long dead. By the time Steph was eighteen, and preparing to return to New Jersey, she was in the process of becoming a junior Sayre. It nearly broke her daughter's heart when her mutually adopted surrogate grandmother died two years earlier, only weeks into Steph's first semester of college. To make matters worse, Steph couldn't come home for the funeral. Lydia shook her head as she ducked inside her car. Now that she thought about it, that was probably why she collapsed into Megan Rafferty's arms when she saw the cop at Thanksgiving break that year. Yes, she should have thought of that a long time ago.

Why Lydia was thinking of Sayre now, she couldn't have said. Maybe it was her concern for Sayre's granddaughter (either one. . .both. . .whatever). Although, in this particular case, she was more concerned for the older sister. She was a lot like her maternal grandfather, it seemed. Craig McFarlane believed firmly in duty and honor. Things that sounded corny, in today's world, but at the same time, not. There were still people who believed in duty and honor. Lydia had an entire squad of people who did. They had to. Or the monster who killed Bethany Lawson would now be dead. They all knew there was a good chance Dalton Robeson would get off. It was what defense attorneys did. But they were cops. . .and that was what they did.

As Lydia pulled out onto the highway, leaving the old homestead behind, her cell phone rang. She shouldn't answer it while driving. . .at the same time, pulling off alongside the road after dark was also a stupid thing to do. Especially for a woman traveling alone, even if she was the police captain. Thus, she chose the lesser of the two evils. Lydia reached inside her purse. . .groped blindly, one-handed, for her cell phone. . .then flipped it open and rasped into the speaker, "Anders here." Fortunately, there was no traffic on the highway, which decreased the danger. Still, she would keep it short. . .it wouldn't look very good at all for the police captain to be involved in an accident while on the cell phone.

"Captain, it's Gutierrez," came the familiar voice, somewhat hushed. Lydia allowed herself a soft sigh of relief as her junior detective continued, "Listen, I wanted to update you on what's going on before I head back upstairs. Not that there is much to update." She went on to inform Lydia of what little they learned so far about the mystery patient. The police captain listened intently, one hand firmly on the wheel, her eyes on the road. She learned about the territory-marking Christine Madsen (and Lydia shuddered to think that she was ever anything like that woman), and about the mysteries which kept piling up about their John Doe.

Gutierrez also told her about giving the John Doe a name. Michael. Lydia had to smile at that. Trust a cop. The patron saint of soldiers and cops. . .what better name for a man who mysteriously appeared out of nowhere? He was all too mortal, unfortunately. . .but still, it was an appropriate name, given the circumstances. She supposed she could have chastised the pair, for giving the John Doe a name. . .giving him a name would have created a bond, so to speak. But it really wouldn't have done any good. Gutierrez and Rafferty would have simply looked at each other, smiled at her politely, said '_yes, ma'am_,' then gone right ahead with what they were doing. Nope. Much better to just stay out of their way in a situation like this.

At the end, Lydia could only say, "Keep me posted, Gutierrez. About all of it." Lydia was on the verge of hanging up, when a mischievous thought occurred to her. One of the first things she learned about Campbell was, it was entirely possible for you to go to the post office, to the local Wal-Mart or Lowe's, and a person you never met in your life would strike up a conversation. It could be over what you bought, or the length of the line, or whatever. Didn't matter. That was one facet of Southern life that took some getting used to (and, as she quickly learned, it wasn't just Campbell).

Remembering that now, she added, "Oh, and Gutierrez? The next time you encounter Madsen outside the hospital. . .say, when you're picking up supplies? Strike up a conversation with someone in your line, while she's watching. Might be fun." There was a long silence, and then Gutierrez laughed out loud. In the background, Lydia could hear a dog barking excitedly. Nicodemus, obviously (Gutierrez told her about that as well). Smiling now herself, Lydia added, "Keep me posted. . .now go eat, Gutierrez. That's an order." The young detective assented, still laughing, and hung up. Lydia hung up and dropped the phone in the seat beside her, returning her attention to the road ahead of her. She was still worried about her two detectives, but after talking to Gutierrez, she worried just a little less.

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After concluding her conversation with their boss, Elena Gutierrez returned her cell to her purse and led Nico back inside the extended stay, then upstairs to their room. Elena had no idea what she would find on the other side of the door. Was her partner asleep, or maybe still in the shower? Had the demons of the previous night returned? Elena unlocked the door, to find none of these things. Instead, her partner and best friend sat on the bed, one leg stretched in front of her, and the other bent at the knee and tucked under its counterpart. Meg wore an oversized t-shirt and sweats, her dark head bowed, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

It was so Megan, and Elena smiled in relief. They would weather this storm. . .and find out what happened to Kristin's mysterious patient. Her best friend said without looking up, "Come in and close the door. . .kick off your shoes and stay a while." Elena bit back a laugh, especially when Nico bounded up onto the bed beside Meg. Her friend did look up then, smiling, and said, "Yes, you, too, puppy." She reached behind her to pause the CD, and continued, "Pizza has been ordered, and it should be here in about fifteen to twenty minutes." Elena returned the smile, kicking the door shut and dropping her purse into a chair, then sat down beside Megan. Now she could tell that her partner showered, saw it in her damp hair and in the fresh smell of honeysuckle that Megan so adored. She peered over Megan's shoulder, studying the poster her friend was working on. A unicorn, and it was coming along quite nicely. She smiled again, then reached behind her and hit 'pause,' allowing the music to resume.

Megan had changed the CD's, and Elena mused, "Emer Kenny. A good choice for this project." Megan just grinned and bent her head to her work again, choosing a new color. The somewhat taller partner glanced at her friend, studying her from head to toe. The still-drying dark hair, the resolute features, the legs even now shifting position. Then Elena saw something that she had to tease Megan about. Her dark eyes twinkling, she commented, "You know, I could leave. . .give you time to paint your toenails." It was the only thing missing. Megan raised her head, looked at her feet, then looked back at Elena. . .and stuck her tongue out.

Elena nearly fell off the bed laughing, but instead, she controlled her mirth and retorted, "Uh, no thanks. . .you are so not my type!" Oh yes, Megan would be all right. . .that little action proved it. Her partner giggled. . .actually giggled, reminding Elena of the fourteen year old girl she had first met, so many years earlier. In that moment, with her damp hair, her baggy clothes, and her impish expression, Megan looked like that teenager as well. Elena just smiled back at her warmly, grateful that she would start getting her friend back. After a moment, she nodded to the poster and asked, "So how is it coming?"

Megan's expression changed from impish to somewhat irritated, as she muttered, "Meh." She picked up the poster, studying it closely. Elena rolled her eyes. Typical of Megan. In this, as in so many things, what she accomplished wasn't good enough, in her eyes. But Elena saw that there was a great deal of painstaking effort put into this poster. . .from the careful outlining done to the colors her friend had chosen. It was the perfect addition to a little girl's room, not just in its content but also in the colors. Further, there was a great deal of 'little' work, which was difficult even with fine-tipped markers.

"The colors look fine, querida. You're trying too hard," Elena said. Not that she had any room to talk. Lacey was the closest Megan had to a niece, aside from Elena's own nieces and nephews. She had no 'prospects,' for lack of a better word, and she was hesitant about getting married and having children, in her line of work. While Campbell was fairly peaceful, things did happen, and Megan feared leaving any child without a parent. . . without a mother. So, she lavished all of the love she would have given to her own child to Lacey, and to the children of Elena's brothers and sisters. The corners of Megan's mouth quirked in a not-quite smile.

"Occupations hazard. . .or personal. Take your pick," she replied as she returned the poster to its previous position. There was a long pause as she outlined, then filled in the space she just outlined. The two young women were silent for several moments, Megan working steadily on her poster and Elena watching her. With her head still bowed over her work, Megan added quietly, "Mom called, after I got out of the shower."

Elena lifted her own head to study her friend's face, startled by this revelation. She asked when no more information was forthcoming, "From the boat. . .ship. . .whatever?" That always confused her. . .when was a seafaring vessel called a boat, and when was it called a ship? Megan's cousin Gavin, her surrogate older brother, explained it to her this way. . .it was defined by its size. A submarine, for instance, was called a boat. An aircraft carrier, on the other hand, was a ship. That was fine. But what was the difference when discussing civilian seafaring vessels? She didn't bother asking how a Marine knew. . .she knew better than that.

"Yeah. Gavin found out about. . .well, he called Mom. She then called me, to make sure that I'm all right," Megan replied, her voice catching ever so slightly when she started to mention the murder. Elena could have sworn in sheer frustration. Gavin. She knew she forgot something! He was very protective of both female cousins, but there was a special bond between him and Megan. Gavin was sometimes overbearing in his protectiveness toward Megan, even more so than Megan was toward Kristin. It wasn't that he loved Kristin any less. . .but in a sense, he grew up with Megan, though she was nearly a decade younger.

However, Gavin was hardly the issue at the moment. Ailsa Rafferty was known to be just as protective of her older daughter as her husband's nephew was, and no less protective of Megan than she was of Kristin. It was, of course, because of her occupation. Kristin was her younger daughter, but Megan was a cop. Elena said, unable to keep the skepticism from her voice, "No scolding?" Megan looked up from her work once more, this time with a grin that could be best described as 'rueful.' Uh-huh. This, then, would fall into the category of 'best heard to be believed.'

"No. . .no, not really. I think maybe Dad said something to her, before she called me and after she got off the phone with Gavin," came the response. Megan shook her still-damp bangs out of her eyes half-heartedly. Elena dismissed the idea of suggesting again that she get her hair cut, and instead, focused on the possibility suggested. And it certainly was a possibility. Francis Rafferty, in some ways, was far more easy-going with his two daughters than his wife. . . more inclined to let them to grow up. At the same time, if someone was foolish enough to break the heart of either of his girls, Francis reacted rather powerfully.

"Maybe the ocean air has mellowed your mother," Elena observed, pointing out one other possibility that occurred to her. She heard it said that such cruises could have that effect on people in general, and people like Ailsa Rafferty specifically. Megan responded with a sidelong glance, then returned her attention to the welcome distraction of the poster. Elena pressed, "Well, you have to admit. . .it is a possibility. Even your mother can't be 'on' one hundred percent of the time."

Now Megan did give her a frankly unbelieving stare; however, all she said was, "Mmm. I think it's far more likely that Dad reminded her that they were on vacation, and I didn't want to worry them. Something that Gavin probably pointed out to her as well. Not that it stopped him from telling her anyhow." There was the slightest edge when she spoke of her cousin's phone call to her mother, and Elena wished she could see the confrontation between the pair when next they met. That promised to be quite entertaining. Besides. Megan happened to be right. At least about her father, though the jury was still out about Gavin.

"That is your dad's style, I gotta admit. And maybe she figured since neither you nor Kristin were hurt. . ." Elena began, and then grimaced, adding, "Right. That's about as likely as if Madsen started acting like a civilized human being all of a sudden, bless her heart." She thought she was getting the hang of this 'bless her heart' thing. While she grew up in the South, she wasn't a GRIT, not like Megan. The only thing that confused her more than the use of 'bless her heart/bless his heart' was 'y'all' and 'y'uns.' Confusing. Massively confusing.

And in any event, when she mentioned the annoying Yankee detective with the Raleigh PD, Megan's lips quirked. She replied, her grin widening ever so slightly, "Pretty much, yeah. And you do realize that she would say that she's the civilized one, right?" Elena barely managed to keep from laughing outright. She probably should have chastised herself, and her partner, from being so uncharitable. . .but she really didn't feel like it. While Elena couldn't see into the future, she had the dismal feeling that things with Detective Christine Madsen would get far, far worse before they got better.

Besides, she suspected that Megan was right. . .that Madsen did think herself far more civilized than her Southern counterparts. And it was to this that she responded, "Dios mio. . .you know, if she's civilized, then I think I'll stay the barbarian, gracias!" That provoked another burst of laughter from her companion, and even Nico seemed amused, his tail thumping enthusiastically on the bedspread. Si, she would remain the barbarian to Madsen's civilized moral and intellectual superiority.

"Amen. Listen, you have about ten minutes to shower, before the pizza gets here. I left you plenty of warm water, and before you ask, yes, querida, I did remember to bring the styling gel. . .mousse. . .whatever," Megan replied. Si, she would be fine. Elena didn't know what happened, or if anything did happen, while she and Nico were downstairs. Perhaps it was the distraction of this new case, or just knowing that Kristin was fine. . . seeing it with her own eyes. However, that relief didn't stop Elena from teasing her partner. . .or maybe, it encouraged it.

She made a face at Megan and asked, "Are you trying to tell me something, amiga?" Her partner just smiled and mouthed 'maaaaybe' at her, waggling her eyebrows at the same time. Elena stuck her tongue out once more, but headed into the bathroom nonetheless. . . undressing along the way. Megan didn't chide her about her lack of decorum, but then again, why would she? The blinds were closed, and it was unlikely that anyone could see inside the room. Either way, Megan was right. . .a shower would feel good right now. Real good.

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While Elena was in the shower, Megan turned most of her attention back to the poster. After meeting the mystery patient who brought her and Elena to Raleigh, the young detective found it easier to push Bethany Lawson's murder into a little compartment where she could deal with it. There was something about their John Doe that . . .Megan shook her head, frowning. Kristin said that when he awakened the second time, he didn't seem as haunted as when he first woke up. She had no basis of comparison, but it seemed that there was. . . He saw something. . . something terrible. Megan worked with enough survivors of trauma to know. This man was severely traumatized, and it wouldn't surprise her if that caused his amnesia.

As much as her heart cried out against it, there was nothing more she could do for Bethany, over and above catching her killer and making sure the hijo de perra didn't walk on a technicality. Everything by the book, very neat, very precise. . .it was now up to the district attorney to put the sick bastard away. And in time, she would forgive herself for failing to save Bethany. This strange man. . .he needed her help. But if she continued to obsess over Bethany, she would be of no use to the stranger. And that really would be a betrayal. So, bit by bit, piece by piece, Megan walled away her still-potent grief and rage, until she could deal with it.

Which was where the distraction came in. A distraction and a new focus. For her, it was these fuzzy posters, as they were called. She smiled faintly, remembering the first time she saw one. She was working as a receptionist at Kelly's Garage at the time, her summer job each year. It was about five miles outside of town, and in the years Megan worked there, there were a total of six bays. That was all Josiah Kelly needed at the time, because he took care of Campbell mainly. In the last year especially, he found it necessary to expand to twenty bays, thanks to his reputation spreading beyond Campbell. But back then, it was much smaller. Even so, the mechanics and the customers kept her busy.

After getting off work at six thirty, Megan sometimes stopped at Wal-Mart on the way home, if her mother needed something. On this trip, she was picking up a prescription for her sister. Since the medicine wasn't ready, she wandered around the store. Along with crayons and markers, she found the posters and immediately fell in love with them. For some reason, the posters reminded her of the velvet tapestries she vaguely remembered from childhood. Since she only had enough to get Kristin's medicine, Megan reluctantly waited until the next pay-day to buy her first poster. But it was worth the wait. Ten years later, she had done more posters than she could count, and thanks to a tip from Miss Regine, she had a nearly unlimited supply with her trips to the craft stores.

This was her solace, this helped to focus her attention on something other than whatever was bothering her. Whether it was the most recent case, her worry for her family, or something else, this gave her something to cling to. To say nothing of inexpensive gifts for her family! For Elena, it was embroidery. . .needlepoint. Megan grinned faintly as she chose another color, remembering Elena's scowl when a Christine Madsen-type in Campbell informed her friend that she was 'falling into the patriarchal role chosen' for her with her love for needlework. It was all Elena could do to keep from sticking her needle in the idiot's eye.

And then there was Kristin. She began working on latch-hook when she was still a child. As a matter of fact, their mother got her hooked on it (no pun intended) while Kristin was recovering from her bout with the flu. The illness which required Megan to stop at Wal-Mart on that day, more than ten years earlier, come to think of it. Funny, how the Rafferty girls found their welcome distraction at more or less the same time. Kristin was bored and miserable. . .not yet strong enough to go back to school, but at the same time, she no longer required so much sleep. Their mom bought a latch-hook kit, got Kristin started, and the elder members of the household heard nothing more from her for hours. The younger sister tried to teach the elder on more than one occasion, but where needles (and hooks) were concerned, Megan was all thumbs. That was fine, though. More than fine. It was _necessary_.

Up until she started college, Kristin managed to complete seven or eight projects a year. That was down to four, thanks to her classes and volunteering. . .one per quarter, but she still made enough to use them as Christmas gifts. Christmas gifts. Megan made a face, remembering that Christmas was coming up in just a few weeks. The time between Halloween and Christmas passed all too quickly. With gas prices at a six month low (at the very least), currently between 1.99 and 2.09 in most places around Campbell, she wasn't worried about spending money. She was, however, worried about what she would get for people. During some years, Megan got an early start on her Christmas shopping. This, however, wasn't one of those years.

For people like her mother or Elena, it would be relatively easy. They both were collectors. Even if she couldn't find an angel for her best friend/partner, there were still Celtic CD's she didn't have. . .or another needlepoint project. Those always went over well. As for her mother. . . Ailsa Rafferty collected pottery, and fortunately, there were plenty of pottery shops around the area. That wouldn't be a problem. She would probably take the easy way out for her father and Gavin. . .get them gift cards for a department store. As for Gavin's only child, Reece, Megan was mightily tempted to give him a lump of coal. Reece was nineteen, but acted twelve most of the time. He tried his father's patience, his grandparents' patience, Megan's patience, her parents' patience. The only person whose patience he didn't try was his mother, and that was because she raised him to be that way.

But, she would probably end up getting him a gift card as well, if only to keep family peace. She wasn't interested in making nice with Reece's mother. . .she was, however, determined that her parents and Gavin (as well as Kristin) didn't suffer for whatever Megan did. And her dear ex-cousin-by-marriage was quite capable of doing just that. And then some. Megan muttered a few decidedly unladylike comments about Reece's mother under her breath, but returned her attention to the poster that was slowly taking shape in front of her. Elena was right. She was pushing herself too hard. Besides, this was going to an infant girl, who probably wouldn't see the flaws in it.

As Megan considered possible colors for the unicorn's tail, there was a knock at the door. Nico lay beside her, undisturbed by the knock. Megan called warily, "Who is it?" Her understanding was that the pizza delivery person would call from the lobby, and she would go down and pick it up. It was why she was still dressed. . .albeit more comfortably. Her piece was in the nightstand beside her bed. . .yes, she was in a hotel with some security, and yes, they should be safe. But she wasn't comfortable in Raleigh, as she didn't spend much time here. Besides. She was a cop. And like her mother, she was always 'on.' Just in a different way.

"Detective Rafferty, it's David Watkins with your pizza delivery," came the semi-familiar voice of the extended stay's owner. Megan blinked, but reached down into her purse for her wallet. She eyed her piece for a moment, then decided to take it with her. When she and Elena checked in, they both showed their pieces as part of their registration, and wrote the serial number along side their names. Technically, they probably should have given their guns to the owner. . .but since they didn't, the man was, at the very least, aware that they had them. And again, a piece probably wasn't necessary, since Nico was with them. But he was asleep, and Megan felt naked without the familiar, comfortable weight of her gun.

Carrying her holster over her shoulder, Megan padded to the door with wallet in hand. She already had the twenty out when she looked through the peephole, confirming what she was told. Megan opened the door and said apologetically, "Sorry it took so long. I'm on duty even when I'm off duty. Thanks. . .the total was eighteen forty, right?" The delivery person was a young boy, maybe nineteen. He nodded with a shy smile, and Megan produced the twenty. As she did, the holster came into view, and the boy's face turned slightly pale. However, he accepted the money, his hand trembling ever so slightly as he made the change. She said conversationally, "I thought y'all would be calling first. That's why I was surprised."

"Well, I was on my way up to make sure you ladies were all right, so I offered to escort the young gentleman," Mr. Watkins replied. Megan smiled as the youngster finally handed her the change, and the owner continued, "I noticed your partner downstairs with Nico. . .I'd swear he remembers this place." Which wouldn't have surprised Megan at all. . .she was sure that dogs knew more than anyone might have thought. And German Shepherds were one of the most intelligent breeds around.

"He probably does. Thanks so much for this. . .and thank you, Mr. Watkins. We're doing just fine. After we check in with Captain Anders, I'll be calling Johanna. . .would you like me to pass along a message to her?" Megan asked. It was probably not necessary, since they talked on a regular basis, but it was the polite thing to do. Megan would have been the first to say that she wasn't a Southern belle, and it was debatable if she was even a Southern lady. But she was raised to be polite, to show good manners, particularly when interacting with someone of a greater age than herself.

"No, just reassure her that you're all right. You mean a great deal to her, Detective Rafferty. Johanna always wanted a daughter, and later a granddaughter. You're the closest she'll ever have to either. Good night, then. . .rest well," Mr. Watkins told her. She smiled and nodded, nudging the door shut with her hip as the owner and the delivery boy (screw being politically correct, it was too damn tiring. And he was a boy) headed back to the elevator. Ooh, that pizza smelled sooo good! But she would be a good little girl, and wait until her partner got out of the shower before she started eating it. This time.

While they ate, too, Megan decided that she and Elena would have to talk about what to do about Michael. Kristin was right. Sooner or later, he would be strong enough to leave the hospital. And she really didn't think he had family here in Raleigh. . .or North Carolina. . .or even the United States. Someone would have to look after him. Maybe in the morning, after the trio ate, they would talk to Dr. Daly about what he suggested. One thing was certain. He hadn't the skills yet to survive on his own. Someone would have to teach him.

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When next he opened his eyes, it seemed at first as if he was still asleep. But gradually, his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, and he could see some things in his room. The odd contraption with the horrendous noise, for one thing. What was it that Ronan called it? Oh yes. The fone. An odd name for an odd device, but he was steadily becoming more and more accustomed to that. A quick glance toward his left told him that it was at night, though he could not tell how late it truly was. It could have been midnight. . .or the sun could have just finished setting a short time ago. Either way, for now, he was alone.

He lay awake in the silent, dark room. There were so many things. . .so very many things he didn't understand. He could not remember his name, or from whence he came. For that matter, he was not entirely certain how old he was! Yet he knew certain things. If only the language of his saviors was among those things. Yes, Ronan was teaching him this new language (which seemed familiar in some ways), but that was not enough. Knowledge was power, and what a man did not know. . .could lead to his death. Again, he had no idea how he knew it. But he did. One of many things which fell into that particular category.

Just to amuse himself, and occupy himself (as there was naught else for him to do), he began enumerating what he did not know. He had never before encountered a fone. He knew not his own name, nor how he came to be here. For that matter, he hadn't any idea where, exactly, here was. Nor did he know the location of his home. Did his parents yet live? Did he have brothers or sisters? Aunts or uncles? Cousins? Quite unexpectedly, tears pricked at his eyes, and he resolutely turned his mind away from the subject of his family. It hurt. And he hurt badly enough as it was. So, he turned his mind, turned his attention to other things. There were many odd devices here. There was the fone, of course, and the teevee, and. . .

Earlier, after he awakened to find Meg, Aylayna, and Nico gone, someone came into the room. Kristin was gone, as was Ronan, and he did not recognize this new person. But the newcomer did not approach him. . .nay, she stood several paces from the edge of his bed, held an odd contraption (another one) up to her face. Confused, he watched her, especially when her finger moved on the device. A bright light filled the room, making him blink. She smiled at him, then left the room. He had no idea what was just done, but he seemed to have taken no ill effect from it (aside from the brief pain in his eyes caused by the bright light). If only he had the language skills to ask Ronan what it all meant.

He was relatively certain that he would not remain in this place of healing forever. That, of course, provoked even more unanswered questions, but this time, he welcomed those new questions. This, at least, would not hurt. When he finally left, where would he go? Where could he go? He could not remember seeing the world outside these four walls, though he could hear passing odd noises. But what was it like out there? And what would he do? Presumably, he had a trade of some kind. Kristin and Ronan were both healers. Meg and Aylayna. . .well, he knew that Meg was Kristin's sister, and that Aylayna was her boon companion. But he knew not what their trade was. Not for certain. He felt certain that they were protectors of some kind. Again, he was uncertain how he knew that. Only that he did.

Did he perhaps know this because he himself was a protector. . .perhaps a warrior? It was possible. If only he could remember. . . Or, perhaps, it was for the best that he did not. He saw a womanly figure surrounded by light, voice filled with regret. . . Was it his imagination or did he see the woman at some point? With a soft sigh, he closed his eyes and relaxed a little more against his pillows. Right now, he was not in terrible pain. Either it was easing, due to his more cautious movements, or he was becoming accustomed to pain. Even so, the pain exhausted him. He slept a great deal, even when he would have preferred not to do so. Still, something inside him told him that this, too, was to be expected. And this time, he did not dwell on those senses which told him. This time, he merely accepted it. What else could he do?

The door opened, ever so slightly, and the man currently called 'Mikal' turned his head in that direction. The door eased open a little further, and now, he could see the outline of a man. Twas too broad to be a woman. . .and now, as his visitor stood framed in the light, Mikal could tell whom it was. He whispered, "Ronan." The door closed behind him and Ronan stepped to the bed, turning on the torch which rested beside Mikal's bed. The doctor sat down beside him with a warm smile, and Mikal repeated, "Ronan." The smile brightened, and again, Mikal had the strangest feeling that he had met this man before. Unfortunately, that was all it was. No memories were stirred. Just a feeling.

And it wasn't necessary. Ronan just smiled at him, almost tenderly, his large hand ghosting over Mikal's hair. Mikal closed his eyes, sighing a little at the contact. Somehow, for some reason, he minded it not at all. Despite Mikal's growing certainty that he was once a soldier, the contact was welcomed. (In his mind, he could feel the touch of another, but it was different. . .he was cold, he was so cold) Ronan's hand remained cupped against his head, and they simply remained like that. After a while, the healer began to speak. Mikal understood none of it, but that mattered not at all. He liked hearing the sound of Ronan's voice. It brought him comfort, and he would take any comfort he could find.

Comfort that, no doubt, would be necessary. It was rare that Ronan entered the room, simply to keep him company. He was right. Ronan removed his hand from Mikal's head and gently pulled the covers away from his body. By now, Mikal knew what this meant. Ronan would look at his wounds, make sure that they were healing properly. The young man steeled himself for whatever came next, closing his eyes in preparation for the pain. Even so, even at Ronan's most gentle touch, pain exploded through Mikal's torso and he groaned in spite of himself. He squeezed his eyes shut, but still felt tears leaking through his eyelids. He should not be weeping, but oh gods! It hurt so terribly much!

A gentle hand against his forehead drove Mikal to open his eyes once more and through a film of moisture, he could see Ronan smiling at him tenderly. There were two more people in the room, carefully bandaging his belly and chest anew. But Ronan would not allow him to watch that in progress. . .instead, he kept Mikal's eyes on him, speaking in a low, gentle voice. It mattered not at all that he understood none of what Ronan was saying to him. Here was someone familiar, someone he felt he could trust. There were precious few in this strange place whom fell into that category. Ronan was one. Kristin, of course, was another. And while he was not yet certain, he believed that Meg and Aylayna could be trusted as well.

Ronan beckoned to one of the people who worked on his dressing and she nodded, smiling. Ronan turned back to him and winked in a conspiratorial fashion. The gesture seemed, again, oddly familiar to Mikal, but this time, he forced himself not to wonder about it. There were too many other things to consider. The woman left the room, returning in only a few moments with yet another strange device in her hand. Correction. . .she had a strange device in each hand. He knew not what either was. . .but he was willing to trust Ronan. Had he any choice? Not in this. The doctor took both objects. . .and that was when things became truly strange.

Ronan actually opened both objects, and placed an item that resembled a small, rainbow-colored wheel inside the black device. Aye, twas black, with what appeared to be a cord. The cord, in turn, led to. . .whatever that was. Mikal never saw such things, but Ronan placed it over his head, adjusting two soft, small items against his ears, then placed the device at Mikal's side. He pressed something on the device. . .and. . .music? He was hearing music? It was unlike anything he ever heard before (that he could remember, not that this covered a great deal of territory), but it was music. And it was beautiful. He gave a sigh, closing his eyes. Of all the kindnesses shown to him by Ronan and the other healers (aside from Kristin), this was the greatest. Relaxing to the unusual music, Mikal drifted off once more.

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_Aye, laddie. . .just relax. I'm here, and I'll not allow anything to happen to you_, Dr. Ronan Daly thought as the young man whom the police officers had taken to calling 'Michael' drifted off to sleep. He smiled as he noticed his patient's peaceful expression. It was a stroke of genius, asking Amelia to get his headset and one of his David Arkenstone CD's. It was Ronan's favorite, actually. . ._Atlantis_. In some ways, it reminded him of his distant memories of Minas Tirith. He spent a great deal of time in Gondor, and in the White City after Aragorn was crowned. There was much rebuilding to do, and he wandered through the great city, remembering Boromir's love and pride for his city. And he still couldn't believe it. Boromir was here, now!

Once Amelia and Cooper finished checking Boromir's wounds and replacing his dressings, they departed, leaving Ronan alone with the sleeping young man. The Irish doctor sat down beside him once more, groaning a little as his body settled into the chair. He was getting old. . .doing his rounds was becoming more and more difficult on his joints as the years passed. Just as well that Ronan didn't have to be anywhere for a while. And he wanted to be here. As corny and sentimental as it sounded, just watching Boromir sleep was enough for now. Watching him sleep, and touching the dark golden hair he remembered through the ages. . .it reassured him that this was real. That Boromir was truly lying in the bed beside his chair, alive and breathing. Ronan smiled almost impishly_. Ohhh, if only the Elf was here_! Still, he would enjoy rubbing his face in it when next they saw each other. _I found Boromir before you did_!

He shook his head, murmuring, "I didn't think I would ever see you again, laddie. I never had the chance to say good-bye to you. To you, or to Gandalf, but at least Gandalf came back. You, on the other hand. . .it took you three hundred centuries to come back to us, you young rascal! And speaking of young rascals, you taught those two hobbits, Merry and Pippin well. . .you taught them very well, indeed."

Ronan smiled as he remembered Merry and Pippin. Would this be the lifetime, then, when the entire Fellowship was reunited? Bound by love and friendship, and yet, they had been missing their ninth member through all the eons. They often found each other again, but never was the circle complete. Until now. The doctor went on in a soft voice, "We won the Ring War, you know. Sam and Frodo got the Ring to Mount Doom, and destroyed the Ring. Aragorn was accepted as the King of Gondor, and your brother Faramir became his Steward. Not long after that, he married Eowyn of Rohan. He was a good lad, Faramir. . .but he wasn't you, Boromir. He and the Elf became good friends. I suppose that won't surprise you, when you get your memories back. . .when you remember being Boromir, son of Denethor, Captain-General of Gondor's Army. I remember how you would talk about Faramir during our days of walking. How your face lit up when you spoke of him, and your eyes would brighten."

The doctor shook his head, murmuring, "The Elf. . .well, he became a neighbor, of a sort, to Faramir. Aragorn gave your brother the title, 'Prince of Ithilien,' and Legolas had a colony of Elves nearby. After Aragorn's death. . .more than two hundred years old he was, by then. . .the princeling and I sailed to Valinor. Thanks to my friendship with Legolas, and thanks also to Lady Galadriel, I was allowed to live there. I died there. . . just like Frodo did. Just like Sam did. None of us were immortal, after all. The wounds Frodo suffered during the Quest would have killed him much sooner, if he hadn't sailed with the last of the Elves."

He fell silent for a long time, staring at the peaceful, sleeping face of his long-lost friend. When he spoke again, it was barely above a whisper, "Ah, lad. We missed you so. All of us. I remember once, when your nephew Elboron was just a wee laddie. . .no more than ten or eleven years old. . .he asked the Elf if there was no one to look after you during the Quest. One of the few times I ever saw Legolas at a loss for words. I think Elboron must have heard something which prompted that question. . .maybe Faramir or Eowyn said something, not realizing he was there. A bright lad he was, but even so. . . Legolas told me in later lives that in each lifetime, each time he was in the world of Men once again, he looked for your reincarnation. I think, though, that we all looked for each other. And sometimes, we were lucky to find each other again. All except you. As I said, laddie. . .we missed you."

Boromir stirred a little in his sleep, and Ronan watched him cautiously. Poor lad. He died at Amon Hen, those damnable branches sticking out of his body. By some strange fate (or perhaps a gift from the Valar), Boromir's spirit was reunited with his body and he was healed. Not enough to arouse a great deal of suspicion among most people, but enough to save his life. Then he found his way into this strange world. . .and his memory was gone. That was one of the first things the doctor realized, the second time Boromir woke up. He remembered nothing. And perhaps, that was to the good. If he knew anything about Boromir, it was that he was a very proud young man, and he found it nigh on impossible to forgive himself for failing.

Never mind that Frodo had forgiven him eons ago. Never mind that Aragorn granted him forgiveness in the same breath that Boromir asked it of him. Boromir. . . Boromir was unaccustomed to failing. He would find it bloody hard to forgive himself. In the years that followed the Ring War, and the remnants of the Fellowship learned more about Gondor and what she endured while she awaited the return of the king, they came to understand how the Ring was able to sink its claws into the first-born son of Denethor.

Just as Sauron was able to use the palantir to destroy the man's father, little by little. _It has been so long since we had hope_, Boromir told Aragorn in the Golden Wood. The Captain-General saw his father sinking into darkness and despair, and he was battling his own. Conversations with Faramir revealed that their father put the burden of saving Gondor onto Boromir's shoulders. Broad shoulders they were, but the boy was no Atlas. Given what they learned, the surprise was not that he eventually fell to the whispers of the Ring. The surprise was that he held out as long as he did. Aye, as Aragorn told him. . .he had not failed. He conquered, for few won such a victory over Sauron!

But that was thirty thousand years in the past, and while Ronan Daly didn't know why Boromir was healed, then brought forward in time, he did know one thing. Now that they had him back, they wouldn't let him go. In the meantime, he had other patients to see. Ronan pushed himself out of his chair and touched Boromir's forehead lightly, murmuring, "Rest well, laddie. You're among friends." With that, the reincarnation of Gimli, Gloin's son, left the room, the Walkman headset his son had given to him for Christmas remaining behind with Boromir, the missing member of the Nine Walkers.


	9. The Best Laid Plans

Author's Notes: I am **SO** sorry it took me so long to get this out. I've had a nasty case of writer's block, so until it was broken, I worked on other stories. You can actually thank Sean Bean for the dissolving of the block. While I haven't seen his new movie, _The_ _Hitcher_, yet, it did give me an idea, which you'll read about in the next to the last section. The good news is, now that I have my laptop, I'm writing on a regular basis (rather than, whenever I can get to my desk). I believe, though I can't swear to it, that the next chapter will be the final regular one, followed by the epilogue. The epilogue itself will be rather short, but I will also include my mental cast for this story. I have the next chapter started, and I've started making notes for the next story in the series. Also (takes breath), I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed this story in the Middle-earth Fanfiction Awards. I received third place, the Celeborn Award, and I'm both proud and humbled by it. Thank all of you, so much!

I'm still not entirely happy with this chapter, but if I waited until I was totally satisfied, I'd never get anything posted. With that said, on with the story!

Chapter Eight

The Best Laid Plans

The shower, as it turned out, was exactly what she needed. While Elena took one this morning, before leaving to pick up Megan, a second one was needed. With the onset of winter, her muscles were far more tense, even with a coat. That wasn't taking into account all the other variables. The Lawson murder, Michael, dealing with Madsen (bless her heart), and too many other little things to mention. Elena turned off the water, yanked the towel from the top of the stall, and stepped out. Even through the wall and the door, she heard the knocking at the suite door. Dinner was here, it would seem.

But it could wait a few more minutes. She still had to at least dry off, and wrap up her hair. . .and burning her tongue or the roof of her mouth really didn't have much appeal for her. Nope. Much better to let the pizza cool while she was drying and dressing. Which Elena did in quick, efficient motions. While she wasn't on duty, the habits of more than ten years weren't so easily put aside when she had a day off. Besides, Megan was something of a pizza fiend. . .for almost all Italian food. While they were in high school, it was a running joke that Megan must have some Italian ancestry, given her fondness for the food. Elena shook her head at the memories, smiling a little. Best not to lead Megan into temptation. She was quite good at finding it on her own. Yet another reason not to make any assumptions, even about as someone as quiet as Megan. Or maybe, especially someone as quiet as Megan.

No more than five minutes after the pizza was delivered, Elena emerged from the bathroom, accompanied by plumes of steam. She always did like to make an entrance. The still-damp detective grinned, seeing the pizza on a nearby table, with her partner standing over it, hand on top of the box. Megan looked up from her inspection as Elena joined her, smiled sweetly, and said, "See? I was good! I didn't even open the box!" Elena just stuck out her tongue at her friend, and Megan retorted, using Elena's own words against her, "Sorry. You are _so_ not my type. Too short and wrong plumbing."

"Have I ever told you how evil you are? Because you are, you know. Isn't she, Nico? Huh?" Elena teased. Megan merely smirked, her eyebrows waggling in a way that reminded Elena of her cousin Gavin. He was evil, too. . .only he was better at it. He had a lot more practice than Megan, though Elena didn't mention that to her best friend. The last thing they needed was the Rafferty cousins trying to outdo each other. Instead, she helped Megan carry the pizza box over to the bed, sat down on the bed beside the shorter brunette, and asked, "So what are we doing about plates?"

"Well, I was thinking about that while you were in the shower," Megan began. This sounded promising! Elena couldn't help the teasing smile she directed at her friend, who just rolled her eyes and continued, "We could each use a section of the box. On the other hand, I'm a bit more concerned about napkins. I really hate to use Kleenex or toilet paper, but. . ." Elena just smirked at her friend, waiting for the other woman to make the connection. It took no more than a minute, as Megan stared at her briefly, then dropped her head into an open palm, whimpering, "We're in an extended stay. We have a kitchenette. . .which means. . ."

"We probably have paper towels, at the very least. It's okay. I'm not used to Extended Stays, either, and we just got here. Why don't you put that on the list of things I need to get at the grocery store?" Elena suggested, trying very hard to keep from laughing. Megan nodded, looking more than a little rueful. Her expression became even more rueful when she noticed Nico staring at them hopefully. That was something else. . . they needed dog food for the poor puppy, and probably a bowl as well. Like so many dogs Elena knew, Nico didn't care if food was good for him. Come to think of it, that was true of humans as well. Pizza wasn't necessarily good for people, on the whole, but that never stopped them from eating it.

On their way back to their Suite, they each picked up a soda for consumption with their dinner, and put their respective bottles in the refrigerator. While Elena was in the shower (and presumably after the pizza arrived), Megan pulled the bottles out. As Megan suggested, they each used a section of the box as a plate, and a quick check of their kitchenette revealed that they did, indeed, have paper towels. Once each had everything she need, the partners sat down to eat. And ever, shop talk was strictly forbidden. Not that Elena cared about that this time. . .shop talk would eventually lead back to the murder/torture in Campbell, and things were going too well so far for her to bring that up. However, John Doe/Michael was similarly off limits. Which was too bad, because Elena was realizing that she was quite intrigued by him. . .and not just by the mystery that surrounded him.

Instead, they concerned themselves with far more mundane matters. Such as things that would make their stay here more comfortable, especially since neither of them knew how long they would be here. The pair decided that once they were finished with dinner, Elena would head to one of the local grocery stores. . .they had the Pig, Food Lion, and Winn-Dixie within a five minute of the Extended Stay, so there was no problem with that. While both girls were attired in sweats, Megan was in for the night. . .Elena, on the other hand, had no compunction about going out in public when she was dressed so informally. As they ate, Megan pulled a notebook from her purse and began writing down a laundry list. Paper plates and napkins were at the top of the list, followed by Elena's mousse and her own body wash. Sodas were also a necessity, of course.

While they ate, Elena did tell her partner about her conversation with their captain while she was downstairs, and the details had the desired effect of making Megan laugh. Especially the suggestion to strike up a conversation with someone she never met. Elena didn't know if she would have the opportunity to carry out that suggestion while she was here, if Madsen would be in a nearby line. Still. The South was starting to rub off on her boss. And Captain Anders was right, it would be _so_ worth it, just to see the look on Madsen's face. Elena briefly chastised herself for being so uncharitable. Very briefly.

The conversation next turned to Megan's phone call from her mother, carefully avoiding the part that dealt with Gavin or the Lawson case. Instead, Megan talked about the ports her parents visited while they were on the cruise. Since the three. . .Megan, Kristin, and Gavin. . .pooled their resources, they could pay for a nice cruise. Not a one or two day cruise (though Elena didn't doubt they were nice), but a nice, two-week long cruise with exotic ports of call. Hey, Elena grew up watching _The Love Boat_, just like Megan did, and to this day, that was what she thought of when she heard about cruises.

Only this time, it would be better, because it was real. Someone she actually knew took a cruise. It was only during the last few years that she knew anyone who had the money for a cruise of that variety. And speaking of knowing someone…knowing Ailsa Rafferty as she did, it didn't surprise Elena at all that her friend's mother took a scandalous number of pictures, both with her 35 mm camera, and with the digital camera that Francis Rafferty gave her for her previous birthday. That was just the way Ailsa was. She took pictures of the ship itself, of the cabin, of the other people on the cruise. And that wasn't even taking into account when they left the ship.

Elena promised herself a long talk with Ailsa, once the matron was finished with her cruise stories and with checking on her daughters. She, and her siblings, had been talking about a cruise for their own parents for some time. Elena wanted to get her input on the cruise, on what she enjoyed the most. She supposed she could have let Ailsa talk to her mother Soledad one on one . .but as much as the Gutierrez family loved Megan, and the Rafferty family felt the same about Elena, the two sets of parents really didn't talk that much. . .at least, not their mothers. Their fathers talked about guy things. Elena's opinion was that her mother and Megan's were really too much alike to get along. They were civil, and even friendly. There were no bad feelings, on either side. It just. . .it was just the way things were.

On the other hand, there were the men of the respective families. Francis Rafferty and Manuel Gutierrez talked about guy things (it would never occur to either man to talk about the cruise, once the pleasantries were out of the way…and the pleasantries included talking about the food). Elena's brother Felipe counted Gavin Rafferty as one of his best friends. Their personalities just meshed, for lack of a better word. At first glance, they were incredibly different. . .Felipe was nearly a decade younger than Gavin, for one thing, and for another, Felipe was happily married. Regardless of those facts, however, the men were very good friends.

Eventually, a companionable silence fell between the pair, broken only when they finished eating. Megan observed, handing the shopping list she'd written out to Elena, "This is everything I could think of, but that doesn't mean it's complete. We have a pretty nice kitchenette, so if you wanna pick up some bread and milk, maybe some fruit and stuff for sandwiches, we've got a place to put it." Elena nodded, reading over the list. Most of it, they talked about. . .but like Elena herself, Megan put things on as they occurred to her, the notebook resting on her knee with a pen stuck down its spiral.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Megan if she would be all right. . .but Elena bit back the words. There was no reason in the world why she wouldn't be all right, and to ask such a question would be an insult to her friend. Instead, she ruffled Megan's curly dark hair and teased, "Mind you keep out of trouble, now. . .Nico, keep an eye on her, and I'll make sure to get you a treat." The dog's tail thumped on the floor enthusiastically, and Megan just rolled her eyes, half in amusement and half in irritation.

"I think you're getting me confused with my cousin, 'Lena. He's the one who can't stay out of trouble for more than twenty minutes at a time. And that's when he's being good," she returned. Elena just laughed. That was an exaggeration, albeit a small one. It did seem at times that Gavin spent more time getting in and out of trouble than anything else. Especially when they were teenagers. On the other hand, he didn't go looking for trouble. Half the time, it just seemed to find him. Like his ex-wife, Witchy-poo (and Elena would apologize to the first witch she met for _that _insult).

"You have a point there. . .right on the top of your head, in fact," Elena teased, then added, "Ahh, poor Gavin. I wonder what he would say if he knew what we were saying about him." Megan just smirked, her dark eyes dancing with laughter. Not for the first time, Elena thought that Megan and Gavin behaved more like brother and sister, and less like cousins. Come to think of it, neither Megan nor Kristin were as close to their other cousins as they, especially Megan, were to Gavin.

"Knowing my cousin as well as I do, I would venture to say that he would laugh and agree with us. . .and then tell us _all_ about his latest bit of mischief," Megan replied dryly. Elena couldn't help but laugh, because that was exactly what Gavin would do. There was a lot you could say about Gavin Rafferty. . .including the fact that he had absolutely no trouble laughing at himself. Elena smirked a little, following that to its logical conclusion. You could also say he was considered highly attractive, with a dry sense of humor and the same fiercely loyal demeanor of his cousin.

The truth was, when she first met him, more than fifteen years earlier, she had been more than a little attracted to him. If he wasn't her best friend's cousin, and married, she might have pursued him. But. . .but he was. He _was_ Megan's cousin, and he _was_ married at the time. Fortunately, or unfortunately, as the case may be, Megan was aware of Elena's attraction to Gavin, and took care to look after them both while he was on furlough. He was already realizing that he made a mistake with his marriage, and for that reason, Gavin would have been far more vulnerable. Even to a teenaged girl who was such good friends with his cousin.

Instead of continuing with that conversation, however, Elena told her friend, "Okay. I'll have my cell turned on, in case you need anything else, and I have my room key. Will you be awake when I get back?" Megan shrugged, glancing down at the poster she was working on, then at the television set. According to Mr. Watkins, they also had a DVD/VCR to go along with the TV. Maybe she would pick up a few DVDs while she was out. . .there usually wasn't anything on TV that either wanted to watch. And they had a few more weeks before _Serenity_ came out on DVD (she was seriously considering that as Megan's Christmas present).

"More than likely," Megan answered at last. She offered Elena a rueful smile, and said, "You know, Kristin won't give up until she gets her way. About John Doe. . .about Michael." Elena nodded. And she didn't blame the girl. . .not in the least, but she could also see Megan's point. She also didn't question why her friend was talking about this all of a sudden. Most likely, she had been thinking about it for a time. Megan continued, "She's right, you know. He doesn't speak English, he doesn't remember whom he is."

"And there's something haunting about him. . .maybe it's in his eyes, or something else, but you never really stop thinking about it, and never really stop wondering if there's something you can't do for him," Elena agreed. Megan nodded, and Elena continued, "Then there's the other part of you, which wonders what you can do for him, over and above what's happened already. Find out who did that to him, who tried to kill him. Because we're both cops, and if we did what Kristin wanted, it would like becoming parents to a grown man. A cute one, at that." Megan grinned at that, blushing a little at Elena's observation. Ahhh. . .so she noticed it as well!

"I just don't know if we can do anything for him, 'Lena," Megan said, returning to the topic at hand. Elena looked at her partner, her friend, her sister in all the ways that mattered, and realized something very important. Despite what she said, Megan wanted to agree to Kristin's request. They both did, but unlike Kristin, the partners realized what was in store for them. Even after he was released from the hospital, Michael would still largely be helpless. And they only had a limited amount of time they could take off from work. Elena reached down and squeezed her friend's shoulder.

"One problem at a time, querida," the taller woman said softly, "one problem at a time. We'll do what we can for Michael. Right now, however, we take care of ourselves. I've my cell phone turned on. . .yes, I know I've already said that, and your point is?" Megan just grinned a bit ruefully. She did have that tendency to get ahead of herself, but that was all right. That was why she had Elena. One reason, at least.

"Right. Sorry. You know me. I get caught up in trying to plan ahead, even when it's not really necessary. Okay. Drive carefully, call me if you need me. . .and definitely, take Captain Anders' suggestion. Even if Detective Madsen isn't around, bless her heart," Megan replied. Elena couldn't help grinning. . .eerily enough, Megan was sounding more and more like her mother every day. She ruffled her friend's hair one last time, then danced out of the way of Megan's hand, laughing on her way out the door.

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After finishing his rounds, Ronan Daly returned to his office. . .there was still paperwork to do, and notes to make on his charts. To say nothing about what he would do about Boromir. It would be stating the obvious to say he was glad to see the boy again. He was, in fact, ecstatic. However, Ronan was a practical man. Boromir was here. And he would need a place to stay. The question was. . .with whom? Even after he was released from the hospital, he would need to stay with someone. He wasn't strong enough to take care of himself yet, even without the complication of his amnesia.

Much as Ronan wanted to take Boromir home with him, that wasn't even remotely possible. One, Ronan was not as young as he used to be. Secondly, he couldn't rid himself of the nagging feeling that Boromir really wasn't supposed to be here in Raleigh. He was healed and brought forward in time for a reason. The question was, why. . .oh yes, and whom, as well. Who brought his long-missing fellow forward in time? If nothing else, he wanted to find that person (male, female, or androgynous) and thank him/her/it for giving him a second chance with his old friend.

"Well, I believe this is the first time the term 'it' has been applied to me. . .though under the circumstances, I can hardly blame you," a soft, feminine voice observed from the shadows of Ronan's office. The doctor was on his feet immediately, eyes scanning the darkness. There was no one in his office when he came back. He always checked upon his return, a carryover from his years as a teacher. It took a few scans of the room (he was getting old, that was all there was to it), and then he saw her as she stepped forward. Were it not for his memories of being Gimli, he might well have demanded to know how she got there. As it was, his heart was hammering in his chest like those damnable drums in Moria. However, he did have his Gimli memories, and Ronan had the sneaking suspicion that he didn't want to know how this woman got into his office. However, that still left another question.

"Who, exactly, are you?" he asked bluntly, his surprise (to say nothing of his racing heart) lending a little brusqueness to his voice. It occurred to him, after the fact, that this was likely a very powerful being, and thus, he should probably be more polite. But he was still Gimli, in some respects, and like his previous incarnation, his respect had to be earned. The woman just smiled and she stepped further into the light, allowing Ronan to fully see her for the first time. Surprise, surprise. . .she was absolutely gorgeous. Of course. Why wouldn't she be?

She stood about six feet tall, with wavy blonde hair that settled over her shoulders, to say nothing of her ears. Ears? Ronan looked closely, wondering for the first time if this woman. . .this female. . .was in fact an elleth. If she was, there was no way to tell. And disloyal though it may be, she was just as lovely as Lady Galadriel, her daughter, and her granddaughter. The young woman (though Ronan doubted if she was nearly as young as she looked) smiled and said, "You find yourself caught between surprise and caution, Ronan Daly. . .once called Gimli, Gloin's son. There is no need to fear me. . .I prize honesty, as well as loyalty."

Well, that was good to know! The woman continued, "As to whom I am. . .you may call me 'Pelagia,' though that is not my original name. Rather, I chose it for myself in this modern time. It was I who brought Boromir of Gondor forward in time, and I who placed him in the alley. Hence, the inability of your society's guardians to find any clues that will allow them to learn the truth. However, that is not your concern. Your sole concerns are the care of Boromir. . .and convincing the young protectors to take him home to Campbell with them."

Ronan didn't answer at first, as he was still processing everything he was told. Item: Boromir was brought forward in time by this Pelagia. He already guessed the whole bit about the alley, considering he recognized Boromir immediately. Item: his task, apparently, was simply to take care of the Gondorian during his recuperation. In other words, just do his job. However, that brought him to the final point. Item: Pelagia, this goddess or demi-goddess, whatever she happened to be. . .wanted him to convince Megan and Elena to take Boromir home with them. That would be more problematic. Though Kristin was already hinting in that direction (if you wanted to call that 'hinting'), Ronan had a sneaking suspicion that her older sister and Elena would be far harder to convince.

Well, he had a demi-goddess (at the very least) here. . .why not get more information from her? With that in mind, he asked, "Do you have any suggestions? I don't know th' girls that well, but it seems t' me that it won't be an easy sell." Pelagia arched her brows, prompting Ronan to continue, "First, Boromir will be in th' hospital for a long time yet. Several weeks, at th' very least. As strong as he is, and as fit as he was before Amon Hen, he still died. He came back, but he did die. That's a lot of trauma for a human body. And secondly. . .what reason could I give for sendin' him home wi' people he barely knows, people who barely know him?"

"You raise interesting points, Ronan. However, I will answer them in reverse. First, though you no doubt are following procedure with this business of taking his picture with the digital camera for the purpose of putting it in the newspaper, there is something you have not yet considered. He is amnesiac. He knows nothing of the English language, save what you have taught him. There would be no way of knowing who to trust once the story ran," Pelagia replied. Oh. Good point. He hadn't thought of that. The female deity continued, "That is how you will present your case to my Champions. As to your first point, does Campbell not have a hospital as well?"

A clinic, according to Kristin, but yes. . .they did have medical facilities. Pelagia went on, oh so reasonably, "Of course. And both Megan and Elena have friends and family in Campbell who would be more than happy to help them take care of Boromir. It is wholly unnecessary for them to shoulder this burden alone." Well, that was also true. Ronan had only to think about Kristin's stories about Damaris, the young woman raising her daughter alone and who currently was unemployed.

Pelagia smiled at him kindly and continued, "You see, it will not be so hard as you think, Ronan. I am here, to act as your devil's advocate. I will help you talk them around. It helps that Kristin wants them to do it. . .that she's already spoken with her older sister about Boromir's future. It also helps that the young ladies in question wish to do more. This is possible, Ronan. We can convince my Champions to take up their destiny as protectors, then partners, to Boromir."

Champions. What, exactly, did that mean? Perhaps she could read his mind, perhaps she intended to address this next. Either way, Pelagia went on, "And yes, that is why I brought Boromir forward in time. I saw him the same courage and determination that I see in my own champions. At Amon Hen, when he defended the hobbits Merry and Pippin, sacrificing his life, I saw everything about him. His grief, his guilt, his pride. It was I who wiped his memories, to give him a second chance. In his new life, as one of my Champions, he will still be a protector. Not of the same people, but he will be a protector nonetheless. Protecting was how he lived and how he died."

At the reminder of Amon Hen, the reminder of Aragorn kneeling beside their fallen comrade, Ronan's eyes misted. He remembered standing there in the forest at the Elf's side, remembered the crushing sense that they were finished, that they had failed. Boromir dead. . .Gandalf dead (or so they thought), Frodo and Sam heading to Mordor alone. So many times, Gimli wondered if there was something he could have done for Boromir. He didn't blame himself, as such. But he couldn't forget Boromir's gentle, compassionate hand on his shoulder in Moria, and wished he could repay the favor.

Well, there was no time like the present. What was done was done, and Boromir was here, now. He said in a husky voice, "Then I thank you for th' second chance. I don't know if I failed him in th' past, but I can be damn sure I'll not fail him now. I swear it." Pelagia lifted her chin, ever so slightly, and smiled at him approvingly. Ronan continued, "I'll do what you asked of me. I'll find a way t' convince them."

"I know you will, Ronan Daly. You did not fail him. Indeed, another one of your tasks is to help Boromir forgive himself, once he remembers his past. He will have need of you then, Ronan. He will need you, perhaps even more than he needs my other Champions," Pelagia replied. She paused, then a smile crossed her face. . .a smile that reminded him of Galadriel for some odd reason. Odder still were her next words, "And you should know. The time is coming when once again, you will meet Legolas, once of Mirkwood. The time is coming, when again your path will coincide with that of Elessar. And the time is coming, truly, for the Nine to be One, once more."

The Nine? One? Ronan's heart sped up once more. She could only mean the Fellowship. And he would see the Elf again? Ronan smiled in satisfaction, as he told the mysterious blonde woman, "And I will take great pleasure in remindin' him that it was I who saw Boromir first!" At that, Pelagia laughed. Ronan started to say something, but just as quickly as she appeared in his office, she disappeared. Ronan closed his mouth, looking around in astonishment. A quick look outside his office told him that he wasn't the subject of any strange looks. That was something, at least. He leaned heavily against his desk, the reality only now hitting him.

"I just had a Visitation from a demi-goddess," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head, "if not from a goddess. And I thought this life would be an ordinary one. Oh no, anythin' but! Ah, well. I have work t' be done, and it'll not do itself!" With that, he shook his head again, and walked back around to his chair. There were still charts to read over, and arguments to formulate. Regardless of what Pelagia said, Ronan had a sneaking suspicion that the girls would _not _make this easy on him! He chuckled to himself, because really, would he want them to do so? Of course not.

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It seemed like he was often waking alone. This was the case once more, as he opened his eyes to a dark, silent room. It was hard to say how late it was, distant as he was from the window. Not that he could have sat up and looked outside. The pain was still present, but had dulled to the point that it was bearable. The musical wheel was silent now, and he had no idea how to start it again. Besides, he wanted to. . .do what? There was little he _could_ do, under the circumstances. Think? Not especially likely. He would find himself wondering how he came to be here. . .where, exactly, **here** was. . .and other questions that had no answers. That would only lead him to more frustration. . .and then, to pain. He had quite enough of pain.

Next possibility. He could read, aye, but since he was only learning to speak this new language, there was nothing he _could_ read. He would have sighed, but knew all too well that the consequences would be painful, at the very least. Keeping that in mind, he tried to re-focus his attention. Unfortunately, that wasn't nearly as simple as one would think. It would help if he had something upon which he could focus. And then it occurred to him. Though he was still terribly weak, he was healing from the injuries that very nearly cost him his life.

Which led to a new question. . .what would happen to him once he was strong enough to leave this place? He could not stay here forever, of course. At least, it seemed unlikely that he could remain here for the rest of his life. On the other hand, he had nowhere to go. Perhaps it was too soon to be thinking about this. . .it would be some time before he could even get out of bed. But, if he began thinking about the future, it would allow him to prepare. For what? Another question.

What troubled him was, even if he was well enough to leave this place. . .what would he do? He remembered only hints of what, of whom he was before. His command of the language was tenuous, at best. How could he live in the world outside this building if he could barely communicate? The truth was, he could not. The man currently known as 'Mikal' sank against the pillows once more, closing his eyes. He was helpless. Until he learned more of the language, learned a trade, he would find it necessary to rely on others for survival. And that rankled with him. He realized then, too, that despite his promise to himself not to think about the future, he was doing just that. Mikal cursed himself, realizing then that he was going in circles, and getting absolutely nowhere.

The door opened and Mikal opened his eyes. The newcomer was at first a shadowy figure, then he saw it was one of the women who tended to him earlier. Perhaps the one wielding that strange device earlier? Perhaps. In any event, she smiled to see him awake and walked over to him. Her cool hand rested against his forehead, and her smile was approving. However, her eyes fell upon the device at his side, and the smile turned to a frown. She reached down and Mikal tensed, regretting the motion as soon as he did it. However, her finger touched the device instead of Mikal. There was a strange whirring noise, then. . .the music began once more!

Mikal looked up the woman with a surprised smile, and then settled back more comfortably. She smiled back at him, her eyes reflecting warmth, then left the room. Truly, the next time Ronan came to his room, Mikal wanted to learn what to call this odd music box! As he closed his eyes, and his breath slowed, an image took shape behind his eyes. At first, he thought it was a mountain. . .but only at first. It seemed like he was traveling through the air, drawing closer. And as he did, he came to realize that this 'mountain' was in fact a city. A city cut from the very stone of the mountain. The White City. He heard the phrase in his mind, and knew it was one of the names of this city, this breathtaking city. A lump rose in his throat, and though he remembered very little, somehow, he knew. This extraordinary city was his home.

Emphasis on 'was.' Tears burned the backs of his eyes. It was lost to him now. Wherever it was now. . .it was lost to him. He had to find a new way now, a new trade. A new life. Though it was far from the first time it occurred to him (more of that thrice-be-damned circular thinking that made his head hurt), for the first time, the enormity of it struck him. For the first time, it frightened him. And that was when another truth hit home for him. By all rights, he should have died. That part of him which seemed to know things. . .that part of him told him. He should have died from his injuries. But he was alive. And now, he had to create a new life for himself. Despite his best efforts, he found himself back at the original question. Once he was strong enough, where would he go?

Mikal would have groaned, but it hurt too much. For now, he had only one choice. Mikal began whispering the new words Ronan began teaching him. He would never survive if he knew not the language. He had to learn the language, he had to learn. . .he had to learn how to live here. He had to learn how to live here, and he had to get stronger. The question was, how? Yes, he could (and would) eat what was put in front of him. But there was also the matter of walking again. . .of exercising. His options were limited, given his injuries, but there had to be something he could do. He. . .he was becoming tired once more, and Mikal silently cursed his weakness. But that was something else which was required for him to fully recover. Aye, he needed to exercise, but he also needed to rest. He could only push his body so far.

Once, he was sure, he knew how far he could push his body, before his strength gave way. But that information was lost along with the rest of his memories. And his memory was still, by large, gone. Yes, he remembered images, but he still knew not his name, nor from whence he came. Further, his injuries were life-threatening, and right now, he could not push himself. Could not afford to push himself. Mikal sighed and closed his eyes, finding the strength to lift his hand and rub his fingers back and forth across his forehead. In the meantime, he still had to find ways to occupy himself while he was awake. It seemed likely that he would spend a great deal of time alone while he recovered, since it was just as likely that Ronan had other patients who required his attention. He could listen to the magical, musical wheel and he enjoyed it. . .he enjoyed it very much. Mikal smiled. He could not yet speak the language, but he could find ways of communicate. Even if it was hand signals, and he could start with the rainbow wheel. Comforted by this new thought, Mikal began to relax. The music played on, drawing pictures in his mind.

He nestled back against the pillows, closing his eyes to better see the pictures in his mind. Odd, that the pictures only came to mind while he listened to the music. Or perhaps not. It seemed that music could paint pictures in his mind. As it was doing now. . . _The city seemed to be carved of white stone, and in truth it was. Carved out from the side of a mountain, the White City had seven Circles and seven Gates. The poorest of the city lived in the first circle, and as one moved up through the circles, the people became wealthier. . .and at the top was the Citadel, where the rulers lived, and as part of that was the Tower of Ecthelion. But the Circles and the Gates served another purpose. If the city was invaded, there was a place for people to go. If a Circle fell, the guards and the soldiers pulled back to the next Circle._

_While the White City was the main city of his country, it was not the only one. There was a city in ruins, but still beautiful. Still necessary to defend against the Enemy, if only to keep their people from despairing. He knew just how important it was to have hope, if only because hope was missing from their people for so long. They were all tired. . .they were all so very tired. In addition, this other city was connected to the White City. If the ruined city was overrun, if they lost control of it, then the White City was next. Thus, it had both emotional and strategic value. . ._

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After Elena left, Megan leaned over to pull her cell from her purse. Her friend wouldn't have reached her car yet, so Megan was more than a little alarmed when she discovered a message on her voice mail. Her heart pounding, she dialed the number for her voice mail, discovering that she had one message. . .and that it was from Gavin. Her mouth tightened. She shouldn't be angry with him, and she knew it. There was no reason for it. He was just trying to look after her. But, at the same time. . ._he_ should have realized there was a reason for the way she handled things (or didn't, as the case may be).

"Hey, kiddo, it's just me. I wanted to let you know that I was heading to Miami to pick up Uncle Francis and Aunt Ailsa. We'll be back in about a week, maybe two. Listen. . ." And here, Gavin's voice became unsteady, uncertain, "I know you didn't want them to know about Bethany Lawson's death, and I know why. But I won't apologize for looking after you, Meg. You're my cousin, and it's my job to take care of you. We'll talk about this later, honey. I love you."

Megan said nothing at first, just erased the message. She reset the voice mail count to 'zero,' then whispered, "You're right, Gavin. . .we _will_ talk about this later." Nico stared at her, his tail thumping on the bed, and his eyes looked almost sad to her. She reached forward and scratched him behind his ears, whispering, "I shouldn't be angry with him, and I suppose I'm not really. More like annoyed. Thing is, he's making assumptions. That's what upsets me. Gavin knows I don't like it when he makes choices for me. I suppose I shouldn't talk. . .not after my reaction to him getting married."

Nico whined a little and crawled forward until his head rested on her thigh. Megan smiled, which disappeared when her cell phone played _O Fortuna. _Fearing the worst, she answered immediately with, "Elena?" It wasn't her partner. . .but she wasn't paying attention to the caller ID. If she had, she would have realized it was, "Mayor Farrell?" He hadn't said a word, but she recognized his soft chuckle immediately. Megan felt her face burn with embarrassment. However, embarrassment was mixed with curiosity as she added, "How did you get my cell phone number?" Okay, probably a dumb question, but under the circumstances, it was warranted.

"Lydia Anders gave it to me, along with the rest of the detectives' numbers. It was only supposed to be used in emergencies, but I was concerned about you, and wanted to make sure you were all right," came the response. Megan swallowed hard. Her resolution to put Bethany Lawson's murder was being strained to its breaking point, along with her composure. The mayor continued in a gentle voice, "I'm not tryin' to upset you, Meg. But. . .I know this case has been hell on you."

Now the lump seemed to be taking up permanent residence in her throat, but she whispered, "I'm okay." _Yeah_, she scoffed at herself, _that'll really reassure him. You sound real put together, Megan Penelope Veronica! Not_! She realized, of course, that she sounded like Reece, but the call surprised her enough that the discovery didn't bother her as it would under normal circumstances. To bolster her claim, Megan mentally reinforced the wall where she kept her emotions regarding Bethany's murder.

Not soon enough, however. The mayor replied bluntly, "Bullshit. You're not even close to being all right, and we both know it. I used to be a cop, Meg. . .I'm not just some idiot politician who needs to be fed a line." There was a brief pause, during which time Megan raised her eyebrows at the 'idiot politician' line, then Tom Farrell added a bit grudgingly, "All right, I'm a politician. But I was a cop before I was a politician, and the instincts don't go away. Neither do the memories."

Damn, when he put it like that. . . Megan sighed, "I'll be fine, sir." _Oh yeah. Real encouraging there, Megan. You sound like some idiot heroine out of a Barbara Cartland novel, speaking in ellipses._ The cop ignored the inner voice that was currently mocking her, and tried again, this time saying, "Really. I. . ." And then, she faltered. What the hell could she say? The truth? To paraphrase Jack Nicholson in _A Few Good Men_, what if he couldn't handle the truth? She had pushed things to the back of her mind, so she could help Kristin and the mysterious John Doe, and so Elena wouldn't worry so much about her. But she really wasn't okay.

And the mayor knew that. He said softly, "Really, what? You're fine? Megan, Megan, Megan. I've known you since you were born. I was there when you graduated from the police academy. I know you better than you think I do. And I know you're not all right.There's no way in the world you can be all right. Not after what you saw." And that was the rub, for her. What SHE saw. The trouble was, she wasn't the only one who saw it. Elena was there, too. Her partner wept, just as she did. And it wasn't like this was the first bad thing to happen. She didn't have a right to shut down, did she?

"Sir, with all due respect, I realized when I was five years old that the world didn't revolve around me. Yes, I saw something terrible, and yes, I wanted to make that sumbitch pay when I saw. . .what he did. And yes, there's a part of me which wishes 'he needed killing' was a viable defense. But. . .I wasn't the only one who was there last night. I'm not the only one who cut Bethany Lawson down, or the only one who had Bethany's blood on her clothes and on her hands, literally," Megan replied, a little more forcefully than was really necessary.

There was a brief silence, during which time she began to regret speaking so bluntly to the mayor of Campbell, then Tom Farrell asked softly, "That's it, isn't it?" What's it? Megan felt a little nervous at that. Farrell continued after a moment, "No, you aren't fine. But you're not the only one. You're right. But you think that because someone else is suffering, that makes your pain, your grief, your rage, any less? You do, don't you? God, Megan." The sadness in his voice cut her clear to the bone.

In a low voice, she told him, "Bad things happen. We see the aftereffects, the consequences, even if we don't see the crime itself happen. We're cops. That's the way it works. You know Santucci? He's the guy from Chicago, moved here about fifteen years ago. I never really thought about it that much. He's been around for what seems like forever. He found me in the locker room, crying my eyes out. He didn't talk down to me. But he did tell me about something that happened a few years before he moved here. See, he grew up in Chicago, but he's worked as a cop all over the country."

_She sat alone in the locker room floor, trying to wipe the tears away. It was a losing battle, because every time a tear was wiped away, another one came rolling down. But at least here, she had some degree of privacy. Or so she thought. The door opened and Megan looked up. At first, she was afraid that it was Captain Anders or Elena. Much as she loved her best friend/partner and much as she respected the captain, she couldn't handle a conversation with either of them at the moment. It was someone else entirely different, however. Someone she never would have expected._

"_I won't ask if you're okay, kid. . .I know better than that," Rafe Santucci said, settling his bulk down on the concrete bench beside Megan. She rubbed self-consciously at her swollen eyes, and looked up at the older cop. He had been on the force nearly as long as she had been alive, and she learned a lot from him. Married with two nearly grown kids, Santucci moved to Campbell while Megan was still in high school, and he quickly became a favorite for public relations, since he got along so well with most people. He was just a nice guy, as well as being a damn good cop. The man stared at her compassionately before continuing, "You don't ever forget the first time you see something that horrible. You're kinda young to remember this, but back in '86, a movie was released. **The Hitcher**. There's this scene, where this psycho, Rutger Hauer plays him. . .he's been tormenting these two young kids who picked him up. He grabs the girl and ties her to two semis. Don't think I gotta tell you what comes next."_

_Megan stared at the veteran cop, horrified and all too able to imagine what happened to that girl in the movie. Santucci continued, "Well, about a year after the movie came out, I was a young cop. I got a call to investigate screaming. Someone heard screaming coming from this parking lot, and they called the police. I was the lucky guy sent to investigate. By the time I got there, the screaming stopped. There was this. . .what was left of this person. . ." The man stopped, a muscle clenching in his jaw and tears filming his eyes. Megan brushed her own tears away again, and put her hand over Santucci's. He held it tightly as he went on, "The two perps were a pair of drunk, bored kids, who decided to re-enact that particular scene from the movie. And do you know what they said to me, kid?" She shook her head, tears once more rolling down her cheeks._

_Santucci swallowed hard and rasped out, "They said, they didn't think anyone would get hurt. And they were **bored**." The last word was spat out with venom she never heard from the easy-going 'elder statesmen.'_

Megan fell silent as she finished her story, blinking back fresh tears. Tom Farrell was also silent, allowing Megan to whisper once she regained her composure, "Don't you see? Everyone sees terrible things. Santucci. . .that's haunted him for almost twenty years. I don't wanna know what my cousin has seen, or what my grandfather saw in the death camps that haunted him to his dying day. Elena saw her grandfather gunned down right in front of her, and she found Bethany, too. I don't have the right to any of this! Not when people see worse things every damn day!"

Mayor Farrell released a breath slowly, then said, "But that sort of thing isn't common in Campbell, honey. For you to say that you don't have the right to what you're feeling. The rage, the grief, the guilt, the horror, the disgust. . .that's just plain wrong. You have every right to it. You have every right to hate that monster, what he did. You have every right to be disgusted and horrified. The fact that Santucci saw what he did, that Elena saw her grandfather gunned down, whatever Gavin has seen. . .none of that takes away from how this affects you. You can't pretend it isn't important, that it doesn't matter. You can lock it away for a while, and I know you'll try. Not because you don't have the strength to deal with it, but because you're so damn determined to protect everyone else. But sooner or later, kiddo, you gotta face it. All of it, in all of its ugliness. Because the longer you lock it away, the more powerful it becomes, and then. . .and then, he wins. I won't let that happen, Megan. When Santucci told you about what happened that night, all those years ago, he wasn't trying to demean what you saw. He was sharing his own burden. That's what I want you to do. You don't have to shoulder this burden alone, and there are people other than Elena who are willing to share."

Megan took a deep breath, and then released it. He wasn't kidding, when he said that he knew her for her entire life. Even so, he never spoke that way before. All her life, he had been a cop, or the mayor. . .or even Miss Jean's son. They never really had much to do with each other, and yet. . . At last, she said in a soft voice, "I. . ." And then, she stopped, because she had no idea what to say. What could she say? He stripped everything away, down to the basics. But in the end, there was no need for her to say anything, because Farrell wasn't finished.

"I talked to Mama this evening, and she told me something about Bethany that I bet you never knew. She heard about it from Brendan. . .not directly. You know how he is. But Brendan said. . .he said that you were a heroine to Bethany. And that if her life had to end under those circumstances, if anyone had to find her, Brendan thought she would be glad it was you. You were her heroine, Megan. I dunno if she would have wanted you to find her. That's a bit of a stretch. But she would be glad that it was you who caught her murderer. . .you and Elena. You've taken care of Bethany, as best you can. Now it's time for you to take care of yourself, kid," the mayor told her.

Good advice, she knew. The question was, could she follow it? Megan closed her eyes, her fingers weaving through Nico's fur. Farrell added after a moment, "Oh, and please don't hold it against me. . .calling you 'honey,' I mean." Megan's eyes flew open, and an involuntary giggle emerged from her throat. The mayor continued, and she could hear the smile in his voice, "Better. Just think about what I said, kid. That's all I ask." She would think about it. And that was all she could promise.

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Much as she would have liked to, Pelagia couldn't take credit for Thomas Farrell's phone call to Megan. He thought of it on his own, after talking to his mother. He really was a nice man, and very much like his grandfather. She never met Richard Dennison, but knew him to be the reincarnation of Aragorn. Pelagia honestly was never that impressed with Aragorn during his first incarnation, during the Third and Fourth Ages, but on the other hand, she paid very little attention to him.

He actually became more interesting to her as just an ordinary man, trying to do his best in a decidedly imperfect world. She understood the appeal of superheroes (though her favorite, once she became aware of such things, was Dr. Fate), but to her, there were few things more heroic than an ordinary person trying to make a difference. Not with super powers or mutant powers or magical powers, but just with his/her heart, mind, and hands.

Which was one of the reasons she liked Thomas Farrell so much. Well, yes, he was a reincarnation of one of the Nine, and yes, he was the father of Frodo's reincarnation, but that made little difference to Pelagia. Truly, Boromir and Gimli were the only members of the Nine she had much use for, and that was only because they were the ones she knew best. No, she liked Tom Farrell because he was just that. An ordinary man who did his best to help others around him, in part because of the suffering he himself endured. Losing his wife while his son was still very young was likely one of the hardest things he ever endured. There were some men who could not have survived that loss. But Tom did. He survived, he raised his son to the best of his ability, and he did his absolute best to ensure other young wives and mothers weren't taken from their families prematurely.

She wondered, briefly, why she never took Thomas as one of her Champions. Pelagia didn't have an answer to that. The truth was, she never really thought about how she chose her Champions. She just did. Still. Tom would have made a fine one. She hoped that Megan would listen to him. He was telling her nothing new. . .just in a different way. The message had been delivered. It was up to Megan now, whether she listened or not. Judging from the look on the young cop's face, Pelagia had a feeling she would listen. In the meantime, Pelagia had other work to do.

The more she watched, and listened to, her two Campbell Champions, the more she thought it likely that Ronan Daly's task wouldn't be as difficult as he feared. Based on the last conversation between the partners, Pelagia realized that Megan wanted to be convinced that her younger sister was correct. She wanted to do something more to help Boromir, but her practical side had a few things to say about that. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. If Ronan and Kristin could come up with answers to the questions posed by that practical side, well. . .

All in all, things were going quite well. She was pleased with Boromir's progress, though her heart broke for him often. Unfortunately (or perhaps not), more memories were popping up. He couldn't yet remember the name of his beloved city or his country, but he could see Minas Tirith in his mind. So long as other memories remained beyond his reach for the moment, until he was strong enough to deal with those painful memories, she would do nothing.

Which left Ronan. Gimli. No, Ronan. Like Richard Dennison, he wasn't Gimli, but Gimli's reincarnation. They weren't the same person. They couldn't be. In the first place, Gimli was a dwarf while Ronan was a human. Gimli had a far longer life span than Ronan. There were many other differences between the pair. The point was, while Ronan was Gimli's reincarnation, the pair weren't one and the same. And Pelagia liked Ronan, just as he was. One thing that stayed the same. . .Gimli grew to care about Boromir of Gondor greatly, and that affection was transferred to Gimli's reincarnation. Already, Ronan was becoming ferociously protective of the displaced warrior. Not just because of his Gimli memories, not just because of his Calling, but a combination of those factors and others. In fact, she might even suggest to Ronan that he move to Campbell as well. He wasn't a young man any longer, and it would do Boromir good to have a reincarnated friend nearby. He already had a few, but. . .

Well, one thing at a time. First, she and Ronan had to convince the partners to take Boromir home with them to Campbell. She thought briefly about entering Megan's dreams to encourage her, but Pelagia dismissed that almost immediately. No, this had to be their choice, their decision. She would not meddle more than she already had. At least, not with Megan and Elena. Pelagia was, however, concerned about Megan's relationship with her cousin Gavin.

There was no meddling planned for effecting a reconciliation. . .nothing direct, at least. However, Pelagia wasn't above entering Gavin's dreams, so he could understand why his cousin was so upset with him. Make him see things from Megan's perspective. It wasn't the time for such meddling, not yet. She would wait and see how things played out, once the cousins were back together again. Pelagia understood what Gavin was about, of course. . .but she also understood Megan's reactions.

Well. That still left Galadriel and Olorin. In just a few hours, Legolas Thranduilion and Haldir would be leaving Aman for the world of Men. They would begin the journey that ultimately led to Boromir. . .and to her other Champions. She would not interfere with them. On the contrary, Pelagia _wanted_ them to find Boromir, and Ronan. However, she would brook no interference from the other two. She truly had few worries about Galadriel. Olorin, on the other hand. . . Well. Pelagia never knew him that well, and she had little trust for people, for beings, she barely knew. A warning would be issued. . .and a reassurance. It was likely that they feared Boromir was brought to this time to do evil. She would reassure them that was far from the case. . .and then explain the consequences if they harmed her Champions. Galadriel and Olorin were powerful, yes. . .but so was she. It was the task of her Champions to protect those around them. It was her task to protect her Champions.


	10. Lines in the Sand

Chapter Nine

Lines in the Sand

Author's Notes: Okay, here is the last official chapter to this story. Next is the epilogue, which returns us to Aman, and the final preparation for Legolas and Haldir's journey into the mortal world. The epilogue will also include a cast list for most of the characters who appeared in this story (and some who were either mentioned or will make their appearance in the next story). Again, I want to thank everyone who has reviewed the story. I could have never made it this far without you! I'm not entirely sure when _A_ _Whole New World_ will go up. . .it depends on how organized I am.

And now, on with the story!

About twenty minutes after leaving her partner and Nico at the Extended Stay, Elena Gutierrez was pushing her shopping cart through the grocery store, with the shopping list peeking up from her purse. The cop shook her head as she marked another item off. Damn, it didn't seem like the list was so long when she left their suite. . .or maybe it was just that the grocery store was so crowded. She should have expected this. Yes, it was later at night, but Christmas was approaching and people were starting to make party preparations. She bit back a few choice Spanish swear words as another shopping cart nearly hit her own. _Idioto_!

Shaking her head, Elena returned her attention to her shopping list. All right, she found her mousse and the body wash Megan liked so well, so those were two down. Just in case, she picked up her partner's mousse of choice as well. Meg had a bad habit of using too much, especially when she wasn't fully awake. As a result, her hair sometimes felt like plastic when you touched it. Elena scanned the health and beauty section, satisfying herself that she had everything they would need over the next few days.

Good. Next stop, the soft drinks section. Megan didn't specify which brands she wanted, so Elena selected a case of Dr. Pepper and A&W respectively. She carefully placed the two twelve-packs into the cart, then consulted her list once more. How could she have forgotten? Napkins and paper plates, and paper towels weren't a bad idea, either. Aside from body wash and mousse, they should be fine with the toiletries. They remembered their respective toothbrushes. Toothpaste and mouthwash could be shared, as long as you used different cups. Even motels usually carried Dixie cups of some sort.

She maneuvered her cart past an older woman, offering a gentle smile as she did, and the woman smiled back, saying, "I'm sorry, honey, can you get through?" She had her cart as close to the shelves as possible, giving Elena plenty of room. On the other hand, given how bad some of the 'drivers' were with the carts, maybe that much room was necessary. . .if only to avoid being hit herself. To be fair, though, most of the bad 'drivers' had the added complication of a skewed cart.

She told the older lady, "I have plenty of room, thanks. . .although I really thought at this time of the night, it wouldn't be as crowded." Elena glanced toward the checkout lanes, which seemed to have long lines. That was almost as alarming as seeing how young the cashiers seemed to be. It sometimes seemed to her that she was about old enough to be the mother of some of those kids. It had to be an exaggeration, since she was only thirty-two. . .but it still seemed that way.

Her current companion observed, "Well, there's talk of weather moving in this weekend, and people want to be ready." Elena's mind went blank for a moment, then it hit her. Of course. Raleigh often got hit by rain and snow worse than Campbell did. The older lady added, "I would have thought you were stocking up as well, dear."

"I am, but I never even thought about the possibility of bad weather. My partner and I. . . we're cops. . .we're in town helping with a case," Elena told her new friend. The woman's eyes brightened when she mentioned that they were police officers, and Elena continued, "We're staying at an Extended Stay, and realized we needed a few things. Body wash, shampoo, mousse. . .you know, the necessities when you're a traveling woman."

The lady responded with a conspiratorial wink, observing, "I do, indeed, dear. I do, indeed. I traveled with my late husband, up until he took sick, God rest his soul. Mind you, I was never what people call 'high maintenance,' but I always made sure I had the necessities with me." The two shared a Look, understanding what those necessities were. It seemed, though, that most women did. Elena wondered if that was why so much of female bonding was done in wash rooms. She would have to bring that up with Megan.

"Detective Gutierrez. I thought you said you didn't know anyone in Raleigh, aside from your partner's sister." Ah, man. . .she knew that voice! With a sigh, she looked up to find Detective Christine Madsen smirking at her, looking as if the was the cat who swallowed the canary whole. What, she thought she caught Elena doing something wrong? Someone's reality check didn't just bounce, it went into the stratosphere!

"Well, Detective Madsen. . .not that it's any of your business, but I don't know many people in Raleigh. However, I'm always happy to change that," Elena retorted. She turned back to her companion, adding, "Please forgive me for my lack of manners. I'm Elena Gutierrez, detective with the Campbell Police Department." Elena extended her hand in greeting, which the lady accepted graciously.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, dear. . .I'm Eleanor Hargreaves. Campbell? I'm not sure I know where that is. . .is it below Fayetteville?" the woman asked, still grasping Elena's hand. She paused, then smiled with delight, "Elena and Eleanor. Although, if I remember correctly, 'Elena' is a counterpart to Helen, isn't that right?" Elena nodded with a smile, and Mrs. Hargreaves continued, "My oldest granddaughter took Spanish in high school, and she couldn't decide between 'Elena' or 'Leonor' for her class name."

Leonor, of course, was chosen for her grandmother. Elena was touched by this unknown girl's affection for her grandmother. Still, she didn't comment, answering instead, "Campbell is about halfway between Fayetteville and Raleigh, forty-five minutes in either direction. . .if traffic is behaving." Madsen cleared her throat and Elena rolled her eyes, but said as sweetly as she could, "This is Detective Christine Madsen, one of our. . . well, she's our liaison with the Raleigh Police Department. One of them at least."

Much to her surprise, Madsen actually showed some manners, and shook Mrs. Hargreaves' hand. Okay, it wasn't that Elena thought the blonde woman was necessarily a bad person, but to date, Madsen didn't seem to understand the concept of 'politeness.' Of course, she ruined it a moment later when she asked, somewhat incredulously, "You mean, you've never met before?" Elena would have rolled her eyes, but Madsen really wasn't worth it. That was what introductions implied, wasn't it?

Besides, Mrs. Hargreaves had matters well in hand as she replied serenely, "Oh no, dear. Detective Gutierrez and I just met this evening. Such a sweet girl, to take a few minutes to talk to an old lady." Madsen's jaw dropped, and Mrs. Hargreaves continued, "Well, I thank you for your conversation, Detective Gutierrez. I hope things work out for you and your partner with your case. Oh, and. . .do be careful going back to your hotel." She smiled and squeezed Elena's hand, then began pushing her cart toward one of the lanes.

Elena smiled brightly at Madsen and wheeled her cart around. She would talk to the Extended Stay staff. . .they might already have plates of some kind. In any event, it was time for her to head back. Under normal circumstances, Elena would have paid more attention to the weather reports, but she hadn't turned on a radio or television since she left for her shift the previous day. And it seemed like this winter storm was heading toward them unexpectedly. . . Not again.

She sighed as Madsen cut her off and asked wearily, "What is your problem? In case you also missed the weather reports, there's a winter storm moving in, and I'd really like to get checked out and heading back to the Extended Stay before it hits." Elena didn't bother wondering how Madsen got here. The aisles didn't go all the way to the wall. It wouldn't have been a big deal for the other detective to go the other way and down the next aisle to cut her own.

"My problem? My problem is that a pair of uppity little bitches from some no-name town are taking over my case! Aubrey is _my_ partner. . .not either of you! _My_ partner, _my_ case, _my_ vic," Madsen growled, stressing the possessive pronoun each time. She shook her head, her blonde hair flying about her face, and continued, "I'll escort the two of you back to Campbell if I have to." Elena's temper began to rise as soon as Madsen's attack began, but when that threat was made, she had enough.

"And do what, huh? In the first place, we came here _after _we cleared it with your bosses. In the second place, out of all the officers here in Raleigh that we've worked with, you seem to be the only one who has a problem with that. Now, my guess is this has nothing to do with us. . .no, this has to do with _you_. Ambition isn't a bad thing, but I don't think you're gonna make your name on this case. The only way you'll do that is if the vic suddenly remembers his name, or suddenly learns how to speak English. And that creates another problem. . .what to do about him? I mean, he can't stay in the hospital forever," Elena replied, remembering her conversation with Megan and Kristin.

Madsen shrugged, replying, "He'll go to a homeless shelter or a halfway house." Elena stared at her in shock, and the other detective added defensively, "We're cops, not social workers! Our job is to bust the bad guys, not to take in strays." Elena struggled to think through her anger. She had to stay cool right now. . .losing her temper was a seriously bad idea. As was beating the living crap out of this bimbo.

When she thought she could speak without spitting in Madsen's face, she replied, "I'm a cop. My job is to protect the people of my town. Whether that's busting some sick bastard who gets his sexual thrills by torturing and murdering teenage girls, opening a locked car door for a single mother with two kids in the middle of July, doing a sweep of a building after a bomb threat, or helping to clean up the town after a hurricane. . .that's what I do. And, since you regard this poor man, who speaks not a word of English, remembers absolutely nothing, and nearly died, as a burden to be pushed aside, my partner and I will take him home to Campbell, where people will take care of him. Where people _can_ take care of him."

She took a deep breath, then continued, "A word to the wise, though I have serious doubts about your intelligence, much less your wisdom. Don't push us. I'll be the first to admit, I've got a temper. So does my partner. But she's a helluva lot more dangerous than I am. She's the quiet one, and it takes more to anger her. So, you piss her off? Watch your back, 'cause you will never know what hit you." With that, she jerked her cart and steered it around the other woman. Whether the blonde was watching her or not, Elena didn't know. Didn't care, either. Somehow, she would convince Megan to take Michael back to Campbell with them. One way or another.

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Pelagia could have told Elena that Detective Christine Madsen was, indeed, staring after her in chagrin. She could have also told the young detective that the blonde woman was realizing she just made a big mistake by threatening the pair from Campbell. However, it wasn't important enough to take the risk of revealing herself to Elena. So, instead, she simply watched. Elena was still furious as she reached the check-out lane, but managed to put it aside long enough to smile at the frazzled cashier.

She was third or fourth in line, and used that time to calm down. Pelagia saw her trying to bring her fury and frustration under control. _Why, oh why_, she heard the young cop rant silently, _does Madsen have to be such a bitch? I mean, we're not trying to take over anything! We're just trying. . .mierda, does it even matter? Whatever we do, it's wrong, as far as she's concerned, so from here on out, we stop worrying about it._

_Excellent_! Pelagia watched as Elena drew in a deep breath, then released it. That's it, young one, she thought, encouraging the girl, _re-focus your attention. That foolish girl is worth neither your aggravation nor your anger. She is unimportant_. And the more she thought about it, the more Pelagia realized that Christine Madsen had most likely gone too far. She knew her Champions, and knew that Elena would still be furious when she reached the suite she shared with Megan. She also knew that Elena would be unable to keep herself from telling her partner what happened.

Pelagia smiled. . .for this meant there was a strong possibility Madsen just did ninety percent of the work for them, to convince Megan to take Boromir back to Campbell with them. She looked again at the blonde woman, still staring dumbly at the spot where Elena was five minutes earlier. It _appears I should thank you, young one_, Pelagia thought. _Elena was correct. . .you are not a bad person. Certainly not evil. There is no evil in ambition. And you certainly have the ability to be an excellent officer. You just need to. . .grow up a little. All right. A lot._

But Madsen was someone else's responsibility. One of Pelagia's responsibilities was now going through the checkout, smiling and assuring the frazzled girl to take her time. Pelagia could read some of her thoughts. . .mostly the ones that Elena was practically broadcasting. She knew she had to calm down. And she was also thinking once more that this girl was almost young enough to be her daughter. . .not a pleasant thought for a thirty-two year old woman.

Technically speaking, she was correct. However, the girl's mother was actually thirty-eight, so Elena really wasn't old enough to be her mother. On the other hand, technicalities tended to be the bane of a police officer's life, so Pelagia doubted if Elena would find that especially comforting. She got through the line, writing a check so the poor kid wouldn't have to worry about making change, the bags were placed in her cart, and then she was free.

Or. . .not. As Elena wheeled the cart out to the car, Pelagia noticed a furious Madsen steaming after her. She couldn't interfere on behalf of her Champion. On the other hand, she also couldn't interfere on Madsen's behalf, either. And since Pelagia had absolute faith in Elena, she decided that she would simply sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. The blonde woman yelled across the parking lot, "Gutierrez!" Elena turned around and sighed. Pelagia heard what she was thinking. She was still a few paces away from her car. . .might as well put her groceries in the back seat while the annoying woman shrieked at her.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Madsen demanded as she drew up alongside her. Elena straightened up, shaking her hair out of her eyes, and simply looked at her counterpart. That covered sooo much ground, and Elena didn't even want to try reading Madsen's mind. She was afraid she would never get out. Madsen bit out, "What did you mean by that? Telling me that I should watch out for your partner? For that matter, what did you mean when you said you two would take **my** vic back to the sticks?"

"I should think it would be obvious. . .in both scenarios," Elena drawled. Madsen fumed, and Elena went on, "First thing. Megan is a quiet woman. She always has been. But the biggest mistake people make is thinking that she's a pushover. She'll take so much, and when she gets angry enough or disgusted enough, she'll push right back. While she's getting to that point, she's figuring out the best way to do it. As for the second point? That's just as obvious. I am going to get Megan to agree to take Michael back to Campbell. We're quickly running out of possible avenues to take with the case, and you yourself said that you would probably put him in a halfway house or a homeless shelter. We can take care of him in Campbell."

"Well, good for you, that you don't have anything better to do with your time," Madsen sneered, "other than take care of strays. You don't have drugs or kidnappings or murders in your little back of beyond town." Pelagia rolled her eyes. Did this child listen to nothing that was said? Elena had much the same reaction, it seemed. Elena shook her head and locked the door, then pushed it shut with her hip. She began steering the cart toward the corral. . .but got only a few steps toward it when Madsen made her fatal mistake. She grabbed Elena's arm, swinging her around, and snapped, "You don't walk away when I'm talking to you!"

Oooh. . .bad idea. Elena's eyes flashed with rage. She released the cart and shoved Madsen into the car, her arm pressed against the other woman's throat. Madsen gasped, her bright blue eyes wide with surprise. So surprised, she didn't even attempt to defend herself. Elena hissed, "Don't you ever pull something like that, do you understand me? You do not attack me, you do not grab me! I'm not a damned perp, you will show me at least a modicum of respect, or you will suffer the consequences, do I make myself clear?"

Her arm was still pressed against Madsen's throat, but the blonde detective still managed to nod. Elena released her, then shoved her away from the car, adding, "And remember what I said. I'm not the more dangerous one, between myself and my partner. If you're smart, you won't try to test that. But right now, I don't have much faith in your intelligence. Hell, I'm trying to figure out how the hell you became a cop, given how stupidly you've been behaving! I'm going to work under the assumption that you usually aren't this idiotic. Don't give me a reason to change my mind."

With one last stare, she continued to walk the cart to the corral, but Pelagia knew that she was keeping one ear open for any footsteps. Personally, if Madsen did push her luck, as they said, Pelagia hoped Elena laid her out flat. There was no reason for that kind of behavior. However, Madsen got the picture and left her alone. It would seem she had some semblance of intelligence. . .surprise, surprise. Pelagia knew that her sister would chide her for speaking so much like her Champions. Not that she had any room to chide Pelagia, as her sister did the exact same thing.

Elena returned to her car, still fuming. But the drive back to her suite would calm her down. Pelagia hoped. In the meantime, she really needed to check on Kristin and Boromir. While the bad weather wasn't scheduled to arrive until Saturday night, Pelagia wanted to ensure that Kristin returned to her apartment safely. She was, after all, a young woman traveling alone after dark. And a young woman, under those circumstances, could not be too careful. Nor could she have too many people looking after her.

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Back in the suite, Megan was still mentally running through her conversation with the mayor. Not something she really wanted to do, as she always got herself into trouble when she started thinking too much (and she _really_ didn't want to think about his assertion that she was one of Bethany Lawson's heroines). But in this case, it was probably necessary. Like the mayor said, he knew her for most of her life. He was in the audience when she and Elena graduated from the police academy. And while she would never, ever admit it to anyone out loud (not even to Elena), he was one of her first crushes. Even as a little girl, she thought he was the second most handsome man she had ever seen (after her father).

But there was more to her musings than that. He was always more than just the mayor or Detective Farrell to her. . .he was also Miss Jean's son, the son of her grandmother's best friend. And there were times when she wondered if her. . . admiration of him steered her toward becoming a cop. Anything was possible. She smiled faintly, remembering a time when the idea that anything was possible was a blessing rather than a curse. As much as she hated 'coming of age' movies, she did have a year like that. She learned a great deal about the world and about herself.

Ew. She made a face. How melodramatic! Still, it was true. And some of the things she learned that year, she would have preferred not to know. She was twelve years old, and the paperwork for Kristin's adoption was still being processed. Mom and Dad were both nervous wrecks, and Gramma wanted to make sure Megan wasn't underfoot. Not that she generally was, but when people were under a lot of stress, it took a lot less to irritate them. And Megan was fine with that.

Toward the end of the previous school year, her social studies class learned about the Second World War. Not just the war, but one of the most horrifying aspects of that entire time. . .the Holocaust. And really, saying that she was horrified was an understatement. She simply didn't understand it. And the worst part of it was, what she was learning about. . .that was just a tip of the iceberg, as the saying went. She didn't feel comfortable in asking the teacher. She really wasn't sure how to verbalize her questions. Simple arithmetic told her that her grandmother was alive during World War II, and so, that summer, during her afternoons with her grandmother, she asked the questions that were troubling her. The response was more than she could have dreamed. . .or feared.

In her mind's eye, she could see them, the grandmother and granddaughter sitting side by side on the front porch swing. Megan's feet didn't touch the ground, not even when she was sitting properly. Which she wasn't. No, she sat with one leg tucked under the other, half turned toward her grandmother. Sayre McFarlane clutched Megan's hand tightly as she told the child that not only was she alive during World War II, but that Megan's own grandfather Craig fought in the War. He was among the GI's who helped to liberate the death camps, and saw the things that Megan only vaguely knew about. More than twenty years later, the grown woman could still feel the chill that zapped down her spine at her grandmother's words, and at her hushed tone.

Sayre didn't tell her granddaughter exactly what Craig McFarlane saw. To her dying day, she never told Megan the details. She probably realized that her granddaughter, so like Craig in some ways, wasn't ready to hear what the soldier witnessed. But Megan knew enough about what her grandfather and the others in his unit did, and what they saw. She knew that seeing the children nearly broke all the men. However, Sayre did tell Megan something important. After telling her granddaughter what she could, Sayre hugged her tightly, whispering, "Remember, baby girl. Your grandpa couldn't save everyone. He just couldn't. He did what he could, because it had to be done. But when he came home, he learned something important. There are some burdens you can't carry alone. Some secrets you can't keep inside. You remember that, and you'll be just fine."

Some secrets you can't keep inside. Megan released a breath slowly. There were times when she and Elena couldn't confide in each other. . .because they were too close to the situation. This was one of them. Elena was afraid of upsetting her, and Megan. . . The mayor was right. She had to talk to someone about this. Someone not from Campbell. Maybe Dr. Daly. He was familiar with the town, hearing about it as he did from Kristin. And her little sister trusted him. . .there weren't too many people whom she did trust. Strange as that might be. On the other hand, Kristin was the one who had the roommate from hell. That _would_ cause trouble in the trust department.

Kristin. Megan rubbed her fingers back and forth across her forehead, thinking about her sister and why she asked Megan and Elena to come to Raleigh. Namely, their John Doe. Michael of the haunting green eyes. The memory of those haunting, haunted eyes was never very far away for her. She wanted to do something more to help him. When she became a cop, she took an oath, to preserve and uphold the law. But she also took an oath to protect others. This man needed protection. He needed someone to look after him and help him. And that need would remain long after he was released from the hospital. Kristin was right. They had to start figuring out what to do for him now, before he was released. Something like this would require a great deal of planning. . .planning that could not be left to the last moment. And _something_ had to be done for this man. Like her gramma said, you did something when it needed doing.

That knowledge triggered her next action. Putting aside the poster for Lacey, Megan pulled her notebook out. She had to work this out, because the subject would come up again. When it did, she wanted to be ready. Resting the notebook on her knee, she divided the page into two columns: pro and con. Megan began writing things as they occurred to her. The first thing she wrote was a con: she was a cop, and thus she worked strange hours. She stared at that one item for a long time. Every time she started to write something else, Megan realized that it came back to that item, in one form or another. She bit her lower lip, then finally wrote under it, 'Raleigh jurisdiction.'

The next thing she wrote was, 'feels comfortable with us.' A pro. That was followed a moment later by another pro, 'will wonder about what happened to him.' While she trusted Detective Aubrey to give her updates, Detective Madsen was another story entirely. Megan snorted under her breath and shook her head. Yeah, Madsen was reason enough to take Michael back to Campbell with them, and she noted this in the pro column, observing, 'keep him away from Madsen.' He obviously didn't like her. Megan supposed she should feel sorry for Madsen, considering her own partner didn't like her. . .but she didn't have the energy for that.

Then there was Campbell itself. It was a small town, relatively speaking. Not a city, it wasn't big enough to be a city. But it also wasn't a crossroads. . .blink and you miss it. Megan considered that for a few minutes. What was healthier for a man in that situation, a man who could neither speak English nor remember his past: a city, even a Southern city like Raleigh, or a small town like Campbell? Yes, he would be a curiosity in her hometown, but all she would have to do was say, 'he doesn't remember whom he is, and he doesn't speak English,' and Michael would find himself adopted by half the town. Even if she and Elena weren't around to keep things down to a dull roar, others would be. Like Nico. . .or Mrs. Watkins.

Slowly, she was finding her way to. . . Nico suddenly lifted his head, his ears perking up. Megan sat up, putting her notebook to one side, then rose to her feet. Now she could hear what Nico heard. . .her roommate stomping along the hallway, muttering under her breath in Spanish. Megan raised her eyebrows, but moved to the door quickly. Whatever had Elena in a state. . .well, after she got the door open for her partner, maybe she should put on her shoes, and help to carry whatever was left in the car. She opened the door as Elena struggled to find her key, and grabbed one of the bags from her hand. Megan carried it to the counter of their kitchenette, asking over her shoulder, "Do I need to get on my shoes and carry anything inside?"

"No. . .no, one of the staff members is getting that. Dios mio! Esa mujer estupida!" Elena ranted as she dumped the two remaining bags on the bed beside Nico. Okay, this sounded promising. Not. Elena calmed herself with a visible effort, then said more calmly, "No, you stay put. Mr. Watkins sent one of the staff to help me, and he'll be along in a minute. I really need to talk to you about something." Yes, Megan got that distinct impression. Elena took a deep breath, then said, "I'll help you put away the groceries." Okay. Definitely not a good thing.

However, Megan began putting away the perishable goods first. Good. . .she got lunch meat and cheese, including summer sausage. Mmmm. . .probably not as good as Hickory Farms, but still good, no doubt. Elena said apologetically, "I'm sorry I didn't get the paper goods, but I got distracted. We can pick up some more tomorrow." Uh-oh. Here it came. She was right. Elena told her, "I ran into Detective Madsen while I was at the grocery store." Oh crap, it was worse than Megan feared. And it got worse. Elena detailed the entire confrontation with the blonde woman.

But it wasn't until Elena mentioned the possibility of a halfway house or a homeless shelter for Michael that Megan truly reacted. On the face of it, there was nothing wrong with either place. He would have a roof over his head and food. But. . .he didn't know the language. Hell, he couldn't remember his own name! There was no way she could let this happen. No way she _would_ let this happen. Elena finished her narrative, breathing, "Meg, we've got to do something, we. . ."

"We take him with us back to Campbell." But it wasn't Elena's voice. With a start, Megan realized it was her own. The words couldn't be unsaid, and she realized, she didn't want to. However, Elena evidently didn't realize this, or didn't hear her, for she said, "We have to take him with us to Campbell, Meg, we have to figure out. . .what did you just say?" Megan just smiled at her, raising her eyebrows ever so slightly. Elena stopped, then said slowly, "We. . .take. . .him. . .with. . .us?" She sounded as if she didn't quite believe what she was hearing.

Once she was sure her partner would listen to what she had to say, the slightly older detective said mildly, "We call Captain Anders tonight, and tell her everything that you just told me. We'll figure out a way to work it out. At the very least, we get permission from her to bring him home with us. It isn't that I don't trust Aubrey. He's a good man. But there's only so much he can do. . .we can do more. We _will_ do more."

"Si?" Elena whispered, her eyes very wide with surprise. Megan nodded with determination. They would do this, because it was something that had to be done. Elena shook her head, obviously confused, and said, "Not that I'm complaining, but what changed your mind? I mean. . .I know you were becoming more accepting of the idea, but. . .this isn't like you. Usually, it takes a lot more to convince you to change your mind." Megan straightened up, smiling faintly.

"Elena, I hadn't made up my mind, one way or another. I just wasn't ready to think about it when Kristin brought it up. Of course I wasn't, we had just gotten here! But you're right," she replied, adding, "besides, when you mentioned that Madsen was planning to dump him in a halfway house or a homeless shelter, that was the clincher for me. I don't know if it's something that would actually happen. . .but I do know I won't allow that. We can take care of him in Campbell, 'Lena."

"Yes," Elena answered, still staring in astonishment, "Yes, we can." Her dark eyes lit up and she grasped Megan's wrists, spinning her around. Megan gasped in surprise, then squeaked when her best friend threw her arms around her and squeezed her tightly. Elena chanted, "Yes, we can. . .yes, we can. . .yes, we can!" Megan was getting dizzy, when Elena finally released her, whispering again, "We can. And we will, we'll take such good care of him."

Megan thought briefly about asking her partner why this was so important to her. But she decided after a moment that it really wasn't that important, the why. Instead, she told her friend, "We need to get to work, then. . .we gotta finish putting away the groceries, then we have to figure out a way to convince Captain Anders that this is a good idea." And in the morning, she would talk to Dr. Daly. See if he would be willing to listen while she purged the venom from her soul.

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It had been a long, exhausting day. . .and while it was never truly over, at least someone she knew and trusted was minding the shop while she got some rest. The entire town was still reeling from Bethany Lawson's murder, but life did go on, as she learned when she dropped by Lady J's. In some ways, that was one of the hardest lessons you could learn as a cop. It wasn't just the grief and rage of losing a brother or sister cop. The relief of making it home after another night. . .and the guilt you sometimes felt, knowing that someone else didn't make it home that night. No, in some ways, the hardest lesson was realizing that life did, indeed, go on. For some, you picked right up from where you left off. . .for others, it took days, weeks, months, or even years.

The funny thing was, the city council aside, nearly everyone she talked to over the last eighteen hours actually _thanked_ her, because Dalton Robeson was caught so quickly. Almost everyone expressed some concern for the police officers who found her, hoping that they would get whatever help they needed. Not everyone knew who found Bethany, but the vast majority of the town had closed ranks around Bethany's parents. But that would wait until the following morning. Unless there was an emergency, or a copycat, or something incredibly awful that demanded her attention, she would return her attention to her job in the morning. For tonight, Lydia Anders would just. . .rest and relax.

And _this_ was the way to relax. . .a glass of wine in one hand, vintage Mary Higgins Clark in the other, with equally vintage Air Supply on the sound system. Her daughter would no doubt be making 'ew' faces, but she wasn't here. And Lydia was an Air Supply fan from way back. It was actually something she had in common with some of her younger officers and detectives, including the pair in Raleigh. She smiled, remembering the time she caught Rafferty in tears, singing along with _All_ _Out of Love_. And Gutierrez in similar straits while listening to _Chances_. However, she rarely called them on it. Especially since Stephanie would be more than happy to tell them what songs brought tears to _her_ eyes. Little traitor.

The phone rang, right in the middle of the finale of _Making Love Out of Nothing At All_, which was probably her favorite song. Lydia grimaced, but paused her CD player. She'd make up for it by doing a repeat. She answered on the second ring, "This is Anders." Then it hit her. . .it was Gutierrez's cell phone number. Maybe it would be a good idea if she put her wine down. If Gutierrez was calling her again tonight, having something fragile in her hand would likely be a bad idea. Although she might need the alcohol.

As she listened to her two detectives tell her about the latest wrinkle, she decided to keep the glass of wine handy. Her first instinct was to ask if they'd lost their respective minds. But she listened as first Gutierrez, then Rafferty, told her about the confrontation with Madsen in the grocery store. Gutierrez told her about that, while Rafferty explained her reasoning. Her voice was cool and quiet, and no longer held that note of desperation Lydia heard when they last spoke. The captain didn't doubt that the fury was still there, but it was banked, and more importantly, it was under control. At least for the moment.

Which brought her back to their proposal. They wanted to bring the John Doe. . .or Michael, as Gutierrez called him. . .back to Campbell with them. After hearing about the confrontation with Madsen, both inside and outside the grocery store, Lydia really couldn't blame them. But they had to follow certain protocols. She was silent for several moments, then said, "We have to be very careful. Before the two of you do anything else, I want you to talk to Detective Aubrey in the morning. Ask him if this scenario is a possibility. If yes, then go to the next level. . .ask him to talk to his superiors, see if they would object to you bringing him here."

She didn't see any reason why they would, but they were still in someone else's jurisdiction. Besides, this was unfamiliar territory, and when you were off the map, it was best to stick with the book. Lydia paused, then said, "After you talk to the higher-ups in Raleigh, then we'll start figuring out the scheduling changes. Have either of you thought about where, exactly, he'll live?" She wanted, at least in part, to play devil's advocate, just to make sure the two detectives had thought things through, and weren't simply reacting to an abrasive woman.

"My apartment. . .I have the most room, and my apartment building has an elevator. We're still discussing the other logistics. . .like who will look after him while I'm at work, but Elena proposed that Mrs. Watkins help out. You know what a mother hen she is. If she's not available. . ." Rafferty answered, her voice trailing off at the end. Lydia, however, was satisfied. They were thinking, and not simply reacting. That was good. Rafferty, however, wasn't finished. She added thoughtfully, "Plus, you know, my parents will be back from their cruise soon. . .and Mom is gonna want someone to mother. Especially now that she knows about the case."

Oh. . .**great**! How on earth did Ailsa find out about _that_? Lydia knew there was no way in hell Rafferty would have told her mother, much less while they were on vacation. Soledad Gutierrez wouldn't have done it, figuring that it was up to the woman's daughter to clue her in. Which left. . . Lydia asked, torn between amusement and irritation, "Let me guess. . .Cousin Gavin put his two cents worth in?"

"Got it in one. Anyhow, I figure Mom will take him under her wing. She may even have some ideas about ways to help him learn English," Rafferty answered. Oh, right. Lydia had forgotten their John Doe didn't speak English. . .and that Ailsa was a retired librarian. No understanding of English and no memories. Like there was any way her two detectives would allow him to be dumped into a halfway house or a homeless shelter? The man had no way of surviving. No. No, this was the right course to take.

Which didn't mean she would automatically make things easy for the wandering pair. Nope, there were still rules and protocol to follow. But then, Rafferty especially understood that. . .that the rules were there for a reason. She also knew those rules. It was easier to bend, or get around, the rules if you knew what they were. On the other hand. . . Lydia observed, "Talk to Detective Aubrey in the morning, but I'll talk to his superiors personally." There was a brief silence from her two detectives, and Lydia explained, "He or she might be more willing to talk to me than to you. If Aubrey's supervisors know that you have my support, they'll be less likely to fight you." Not that Lydia really expected that. The Raleigh police had their own battles to fight. As callous as it sounded, there really weren't many places they could place someone like Michael.

And Campbell? Well, Lydia couldn't deny that while Campbell had mayhem, it was also far quieter than the capital city. They had. . .resources, for lack of a better word, that Raleigh didn't. You wouldn't think so, of a small town. . .but small towns could surprise you. She had found that out countless times since her arrival in Campbell. She paused, then said, "I wanted to let you know, too, on another subject. . .I saw Damaris this afternoon at Lady J's. She's gotten a job."

Lydia cringed and held the phone away from her ear at the excited squeals that came from her two detectives. She knew they were both in their early thirties, but there were times when they acted like they were still teenagers! Rafferty said, sounding more than a little breathless, "I'm sorry, Captain. . .but I've been hoping something good would happen for her. Where's she working, what's she's doing, who's taking care of Lacey while she's at work?"

Like she said. They acted just like teenagers sometimes. On the other hand, she remembered her conversation with Santucci early that morning, after Tom Farrell left her office. He told her about finding Rafferty in the locker room, sobbing, and about the story he told her about his past. Lydia cringed, remembering what those two drunk brats had done to an innocent person. Given what happened over the last few days, she wouldn't complain about her detectives behaving like teenagers. . .at least, not much.

With that in mind, she replied, "She's working at the Castle, as a file clerk. And before you ask, yes, she's excited. No, she didn't tell me who'll be taking care of Lacey, but I can't imagine Damaris leaving that little girl with anyone she doesn't trust." And that should take care of the questions. Emphasis on _should_. With any of her detectives, however, that was never for certain.

"Well, you know my mom is more than willing to take over babysitter duties, after she has a chance to rest from her vacation. . .and I'm sure she'll tell Damaris as much when she gets home. Mom. . .misses having little kids around, for some odd reason," Rafferty said a bit ruefully. Lydia bit back a smile. Ailsa Rafferty wanted grandchildren, but neither of her two daughters were in any hurry to find a man, much less have children. Ailsa lamented that fact often, since she believed her older daughter in particular would make a wonderful mother. Her younger daughter likely would as well, but she was younger. . .still in her early twenties.

Lydia, in turn, reminded Ailsa that Megan had plenty of time yet. . .and that when the time was right, Ailsa would get her grandchild. That reminded her, when Ailsa returned, she really needed to have a talk with her friend. Ailsa would not be happy about the fact that her husband's nephew was the one who told her about the Lawson murder. Lydia wasn't especially happy, either. . .Gavin should have left it for his cousin. She knew what she was doing.

There really were times when Gavin Rafferty behaved more like an older brother with the Rafferty girls than a cousin. Lydia knew about that. . .she had three older brothers of her own. On the other hand, she knew that Francis Rafferty's two daughters were the closest Gavin would ever come to having sisters. She shook her head, smiling faintly. Gavin could be quite charming when he wished. . .and he sometimes turned his charm on full blast with her. Regardless of what she said, too, she wasn't immune to it.

"What else do you need us to do, Captain?" Gutierrez asked. Do? Oh, right. John Doe. Michael. Whatever his name really was. If Rafferty and Gutierrez were talking to Aubrey in the morning (and he was sure to be more rational than this eejit Madsen), then the only thing left was her to contact Aubrey's superiors at the department. Gutierrez added, "Maybe I shouldn't have gone off on her. . .and maybe we could have handled it better, but. . ."

"Elena, I'll tell you. . .there are some people in the world, whom it doesn't matter what you say or what you do. It'll be wrong. Could the two of you have done better? Maybe. But it seems to me that Madsen is looking for a fight. Do I want you to indulge her? No. On the other hand, if you have no other way out. . .then you do what you have to do," Lydia replied firmly. She used the younger detective's given name for purposes of emphasis. It didn't happen often.

There was a long sigh from Gutierrez, then the young woman said, "Right. Okay. Listen, thank you. . .from both of us. We. . .we just can't leave him behind, never knowing what happened to him. Never knowing if he got his memory back or who did that to him." Lydia nodded, even though the detective couldn't see her. She understood. And that was why she would put in the call to Raleigh herself.

She supposed she could hang up, but instead, Lydia spent the next twenty minutes, filling her two wandering detectives on the latest news in Campbell. Since she already told them about Damaris, there were plenty of other stories to tell them. However, her conversation with Jean Farrell wouldn't be among them. . .especially not Jean's comments on her son, and Lydia's attraction to him. There were just some things you couldn't, or shouldn't, share with those you supervised.

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Detective First Class Charles Aubrey had seen a lot in his years on the force. And while the injuries suffered by their John Doe weren't as horrific as some he had seen, this was definitely one of his weirder cases. Hello? A strange man in medieval clothing found in an alley. . .no one saw how he got there, and he sure as hell didn't walk there! It just didn't add up. And while he didn't see how the two young detectives from the little town of Campbell could help, he also couldn't see how they could hurt.

He wasn't counting on his partner to stir things up. Maybe he should have seen this coming. Madsen was actually a very good detective. She had good instincts, and she had a lot of potential as an investigator. The trouble was. . .well, for one thing, she had lousy people skills. And that was what kept getting in her way as a police officer. That, and her attitude that she was better than everyone else. She couldn't seem to make up her mind what she wanted from the people around her. . .did she want to be treated like one of the guys or like a lady?

Charles had a pretty good idea he understood the dichotomy. . .she thought that being a lady meant she wasn't a good cop. Thing was, it didn't work that way. And along those lines, the older detective had a feeling that was why she didn't like the two detectives from Campbell. . .at the very least, it played into it, along with Madsen's attitude that she was better than them because she was from an urban area. She hadn't quite figured out that small, rural areas had their share of problems, and that the tv shows and movies usually got those problems wrong.

Which was why, when the two Campbell detectives approached him at the hospital, the German Shepherd between them, he had a sinking feeling that his young, brash partner did something she shouldn't have. He was right. . .but it was worse than he feared. Neither woman said anything about his partner outright, which told him it was really not a good thing. Instead, they asked very politely if the Raleigh Police Department would object to them taking the mysterious vic home with them to their small town. Since the smaller woman, Detective Rafferty, didn't even want to talk about the future when he saw her the previous day, something triggered this request.

He didn't ask why they were asking, but instead observed, "I really don't see a problem with it. The fact is, we have no idea what we would do with our John Doe once he recovers his strength and can be released from the hospital. I was talking with Dr. Daly this morning, and while we need to know whom this guy is, so we can figure out who did this to him. . .we really have no way of establishing his identity. I mean, it's like Dr. Daly said. . .we have no way of knowing who to trust, if someone claims him. He has no memory of whom he is, speaks no English. In a lot of ways, he's totally helpless."

Charles saw the relief in both sets of eyes. They came to the same conclusion, it seemed. He went on, "And let's face it. . .the guy feels comfortable with you. He doesn't like Madsen. . ." A fact which led many of his fellow detectives to observe that the vic had good taste. Aubrey added, "I don't think it'll be a problem at all, with the understanding that if you find anything out from him, you let us know. . .even if it doesn't seem like it would be related to the case."

"Consider it done," Detective Rafferty replied firmly, speaking for the first time. Charles noticed that was standard. She really didn't say much. . .she was a quiet kid. But when she did say something, you listened. If only in surprise. The young woman went on, "If you had said you wanted to keep him here, we would have asked that you keep us updated, so it's only fair that we reciprocate." Charles grinned at the girl, who returned the favor with a warm smile of her own. It was the slow disappearance of that smile, as well as the footsteps behind him, that alerted him to the arrival of his partner.

However, Detective Rafferty inclined her head to Madsen, saying softly, "Detective Madsen." Aubrey turned to see his partner looking from one Campbell detective to the other with a guarded expression. She looked worried. And Rafferty? She looked determined. The previous afternoon, when he met the two officers, Aubrey noticed how blatant Gutierrez was in her protective attitude toward her partner. Which, in turn, led him to notice that Rafferty seemed to be the more vulnerable of the two.

Any traces of that vulnerability was now gone. Charles told his partner, "I was just talking to Detectives Rafferty and Gutierrez. . . .and they've kindly offered to take our vic with them back to Campbell." He turned his attention back to the other two women, adding, "I really don't think there'll be a problem. It's like you said, a homeless shelter or a halfway house is no place for someone like. . ." He stopped, hearing a sound behind him. Aubrey turned back to his partner, the source of the sound, to find her glaring at the two visiting detectives.

"You bitch! I should have known you'd pull this! What, did you go running to my partner?" Madsen demanded angrily. A quick look back to his right informed Charles that the visitors knew exactly what she was talking about. He thought briefly about telling his partner that no one said anything to him about whatever was said between the three of them. . .then decided to stay out of it for the moment. Honestly, he wanted to see how far Madsen could dig herself.

"We didn't tell your partner anything about your attempted assault last night, Detective Madsen. . .you did that all by your lonesome. Yes, we did mention our desire to take the John Doe home with us to Campbell. . .however, we left you out of it. I don't believe in trying to cause trouble for other people, for the simple fact that they can usually do a far better job on their own," Detective Rafferty said coolly. Attempted assault??? What the hell was she talking about?

"Well, you know, it's kinda overstating matters to accuse her of attempted assault, Meg," Detective Gutierrez observed, "she grabbed my arm, but that was it. I think I'm actually more guilty of assault than she is. I did put my arm across her throat." Okay. Things were officially spinning out of control here! Aubrey looked at his partner, who actually looked ashamed of herself. Definitely a first. Gutierrez added, "Also, we wanted to give you a head's up. . .our boss will be talking to your boss about the John Doe, Michael, coming with us. Just in case he or she want to know what you know about it."

Aubrey had to make a decision. Did he take his partner aside and demand to hear what she had to say about this confrontation, or just let it slide? He didn't want to let it slide. . .for the simple fact that he was the elder, more experienced police officer. It was part of his job to teach his young partner. On the other hand. . . He looked back at the two visiting officers. Their young faces reflected. . .what? Compassion. . .frustration. . .and yet another 'ation.' Determination. They were choosing to make the John Doe their problem. . .which left Aubrey with his decision.

He told the pair, "Thanks. . .I'm sure your boss will fill him in on what she can, but he'll want to know why you made the choice you did. I mean, let's face it, ladies. . .this isn't exactly protocol or even standard." The pair exchanged a look, and once again, Aubrey realized that these two women had known each other for a long time. They could communicate with just a look. He had that sort of bond, that sort of connection, with previous partners. The longer they worked together, the longer they knew each other, the better they could read each other.

Finally, Megan Rafferty said simply, "Because it needs to be done." Aubrey started to tell her that it was no answer. . .except, it was. He was a cop, he did his job as a husband and as a father, because it needed to be done. When all was said and done, was there really any other reason to do something like this? Megan Rafferty continued after a moment, "If he asks you to elaborate, just tell him the truth. . .since Campbell is a smaller town, it'll be easier for us to take care of the John Doe. Elena has said, and she's right, that our job is to protect and serve the people of Campbell. Regardless of what that entails. It doesn't matter. Protect and serve covers a lot of ground. I think that'll serve. Don't you?"

Slowly, Charles Aubrey nodded. Yes. Yes, that would serve as an explanation. So, there was only one thing that remained, one last question to be answered. He looked at both young women, asking, "Is there anything I can do to help until he's strong enough to leave the hospital?" He could think of a half dozen things, starting with finding the vic clothes to wear. . .because that medieval attire was ruined. The pair looked at each other. . .and smiled. Charles was vaguely aware that he should be worried by those smiles. But he wasn't. Instead, he smiled back. Whether the John Doe remained in Raleigh or went to Campbell, they still had a job to do. And they would do it.


	11. Epilogue

Epilogue

Well, _that _was nearly anticlimactic. . .but since her short-term goals were reached, she would complain little. Pelagia wished Craig McFarlane was still alive, so she could thank him for his part in his granddaughter's decision. And she knew Craig was responsible, to a large degree, for the decision Megan made. Yes, Christine Madsen and her attitude played a part, but so did Craig. In a way, it reminded her of why she brought Boromir to this time.

The world always needed heroes. Not just to save the day, not just to go to someone's rescue. But heroes also inspired people, to be the best they could be. Wasn't that the entire lure of superheroes? Not just the concept of saving a life or saving the world, but didn't young (and not so young) people look up to those superheroes? To Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman and others? Why should it be any different for ordinary heroes, for people such as her champions?

She saw that in the life of Bethany Lawson, tragically short though it was. As Tom Farrell said, Megan was one of her heroines. In the young detective, Bethany saw what she could be. . .what she _could _have been. As a future archaeologist, she viewed herself as a detective, helping to solve ancient mysteries. Perhaps Bethany would have saved no lives, but the fact remained. . .she was inspired by her heroes and her heroines. The world, life, was a gigantic tapestry, and all threads were interwoven. Boromir's time, and task, in Middle-earth was concluded. But there was still good he could do, in the present time, fighting alongside her other Champions.

Time was not linear to Pelagia. But even some things in the future were cloudy for her to see. She feared that something was coming. Something terrible. The fact that the future was so cloudy for her worried her. And that was the final reason she brought Boromir here. Pelagia knew her champions and those whom they loved would need all the help they could get.

Gorthaur. . .Sauron. . .was long gone. Melkor. . .Morgoth. . .was still chained, and Pelagia was quite certain it was not yet time for him to be unchained. But they were far from the only evils of the ancient, ancient world. A warrior from those lost days would be helpful, once his memory returned. Pelagia knew. . .she _knew_. . .that the returning evil was the reason she was permitted to bring Boromir to this time. And until this new/old threat revealed itself, he would have some time to regain his strength and recover his memories. He would have some time to learn about his new world, about his new people. And most importantly of all, he would have time to find the other members of the Fellowship.

The Fellowship. Yes. There was one thing she had to do, and it was best to do it now. Pelagia knew that both Galadriel and Mithrandir sensed it when she drew Boromir into this world. She also knew that the young prince of Greenwood would be venturing forth into the world of Men, to find his missing friend, along with Haldir of Lorien. That was all to the good. But it was time she went to Valinor and warned Olorin and Galadriel not to interfere with her Champions. Now, before Haldir and Legolas departed.

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_Valinor_

They were almost ready. Legolas took a deep breath, then released it, looking around the hangar. He could hardly call it a dock, since they were underwater, and 'hangar' was a word he learned while in the world of Men. It seemed to fit. A last minute conference with Cirdan assured him that all the protective measures were in place. Once they reached the coast of British Columbia, Legolas would be able to shift into stealth mode (another phrase he learned from Men), and the shuttle would be safe from prying eyes.

Of course, Cirdan could do nothing about the next phase. . .getting from the shoreline to Legolas' home. It was becoming quite complicated to move about in the world of Men without drawing suspicion, but Legolas enjoyed the challenge. He was also immensely grateful that he learned to drive during one of his previous visits. . . though he hated cars with a passion. He preferred walking or riding a horse, but that wasn't always practical.

Well, he would deal with that problem once it arose. For now, he cast a practiced gaze over the supplies that were even now being loaded into the shuttle. They were scheduled to leave Aman in just a few hours, and before their departure, Lady Galadriel wanted to speak with them. In some ways, it reminded him of the Fellowship's leave-taking from Lothlorien, so many ages ago. Legolas touched the item at his hip, fingers lightly caressing the curves. This was something Gimli's reincarnation made for him, all those years ago in Wales, when he remembered his past. It seemed fitting, that it accompanied Legolas and Haldir on their journey back into the world of Men.

And speaking of Haldir. . .Legolas turned as his companion entered the hangar. The prince swallowed a laugh, seeing an unlikely object slung over the back of Haldir's shoulder. The former MarchWarden was carrying a denim backpack the prince bought during their previous voyage into the world of Men. More than a few Elves were eyeing him with astonishment, but Haldir paid no mind to him. Instead, he strode up to Legolas, asking, "Is all ready?"

"I believe so. We have enough food for three weeks, though I believe it will take less time than that to reach British Columbia. We must be cautious. Using the device I brought back after our last journey, Elrohir and Elladan constructed a radar-jamming mechanism, but we must not be careless," Legolas replied. Haldir nodded. After their return to Valinor fifty years earlier, the twin sons of Elrond became fascinated with the inventions of men, and that fascination grew exponentially. They were at the forefront of the attempt to hack into the internet from under the sea. That was no surprise. On the other hand, that their mother Celebrian was becoming equally fascinated with such things _was_ a surprise.

Haldir observed softly, "There has been a slight change of plan, thanks to Lady Celebrian." Oh? The former MarchWarden continued, "Aye. She convinced the Lady of the Wood to come here to wish us a good voyage, rather than having an audience in her chambers." Legolas permitted his eyebrows to raise in surprise. Now _that_ was surprising! Haldir gave a minute shrug, adding, "Lady Celebrian pointed out that Lord Elrond and Mithrandir's opposition to our journeys in the past is well-known. It is the Lady's wish that everyone now know that we have support in this venture."

As he spoke, the Lady entered with her husband, daughter, son-in-law and grandsons. Legolas smiled and dipped his head when his eyes met Lady Celebrian's. She was as beautiful as her mother and daughter. Appearing no older than a mortal of thirty or thirty-five, Lady Celebrian inherited her blonde hair and blue eyes from her mother. And, Legolas learned during his first century in Valinor, her sons inherited her merry disposition. He quickly grew to like her very much, for while her sons inherited her temperament, they did not necessarily inherit her restraint. The twins flanked their mother protectively. Even after all these eons, the memory of her torment at the hands of the orcs remained fresh in their minds. . .even here, in Valinor.

"You go forth to seek a lost fellow, Prince Greenleaf, and take with you a loyal friend," Lady Galadriel intoned. Legolas felt his shoulders straightening, as if of their own accord, especially when his father entered the hangar behind the Lothlorien/Imladris contingent with Gandalf. The Lady continued, "Know that you go with our blessing, and return to us safely."

Legolas had none of the gifts of the Lady. Even so, he sensed something. . .different. . .in the air as soon as she spoke. Something strange. Beside him, Haldir shifted uneasily. He felt it as well. Glancing around at the other Elves, Legolas realized that everyone felt it. And whatever just happened, it seemed to be focused around the shuttle that would take Legolas and Haldir back into the world of men.

"I, too, wish a safe and speedy journey to the Prince of the Greenwood and your loyal MarchWarden," an unfamiliar voice said. Legolas turned his head in the direction of the voice. . .to find a stunningly beautiful elleth standing on the ramp to the shuttle. How. . .? The elleth continued, "I come with a blessing of my own. . .and a warning. I will not hinder the journey of Prince Greenleaf and Haldir. Indeed, I wish to see them succeed. But know this. I will tolerate no interference where Boromir of Gondor is concerned."

Mithrandir started to speak, but the elleth wasn't finished. She continued, "I brought him forward in time and healed the worst of his wounds. I have my own reasons for that, but know this: I mean him no harm. Nor will he come to harm in the care of the three women who have found him." She knew of the three women. . .the warriors and the healer whom Lady Galadriel saw in her mirror?

"And why would we trust you?" Mithrandir asked gruffly. The elleth looked at him directly, her eyes reminding Legolas of blue chips of ice. Not a word was said, but Legolas could see Mithrandir's reaction to her direct stare. For the first time in an eternity, the wizard actually backed down. If Legolas hadn't seen it for himself, he would have never believed it. The elleth looked away from the White Wizard, and returned her gaze to Legolas.

She smiled, saying softly, "May you reach your destination, Prince Greenleaf, in safety and in stealth. May you find your missing fellow. You know what you must do now." And with that, she was gone. Simply. . .no longer there. Legolas shook his head, trying to clear it. It wasn't simply her appearance and disappearance that stunned him. . .no, the reactions of Gandalf and Lady Galadriel also startled him. The Lady was staring at the space the elleth briefly inhabited.

Lady Celebrian asked softly, "Mother? Mother, what is it?" She lay a gentle hand on her mother's forearm, her blue eyes reflecting concern. Though her hair was pale blonde, rather than raven, the similarity to her daughter Arwen took the prince's breath away. He saw that expression on Arwen's face many times after Aragorn accepted his birthright as King of Gondor and Arnor.

"I know that elleth," Lady Galadriel whispered, "I know her face, it is so familiar to me. But I cannot remember her name." She shook her head, and Legolas saw her shaking away the vestiges of whatever touched her. The Lady straightened and inclined her head to Legolas, saying quietly, "You know where you go, and why you must go. Go forth now and do your duty." It reminded Legolas of Aragorn's command to Faramir after he was crowned Elessar. . .'that office is not yet ended. Rise and do your duty.' Which he did, both as steward and as father.

Elboron. The prince smiled, remembering again the young boy who set his feet on this path with his innocent question, so many years earlier. Haldir asked softly, "What did she mean, Legolas? When she told you that you knew what you had to do? She meant something other than this journey." Legolas nodded, once more caressing the item at his waist. Yes. Yes, he knew exactly what she meant.

"Nearly a century ago, the reincarnation of a dear friend made this for me. It was a reminder of what we won and lost, so many ages ago. Perhaps he saw this day coming," Legolas told his friend. He unhooked that precious gift and added with a grin, "You might wish to step back, Haldir." The former MarchWarden did just that, backpedaling with a slightly alarmed expression. Legolas had no clue why. Of course not. Lady Celebrian, on the other hand, was smiling broadly. He knew he liked her. She inclined her head, pale hair falling around her face, and Legolas explained, "This is a recreation of the Horn of Gondor. The heir of the Steward carried it with him, and should he blow it within the borders of his country, it would draw assistance. When we left Imladris, Boromir blew it. . .because he refused to go like a thief in the night."

"I remember that," Gandalf muttered, "and I could have happily strangled him for it right then and there!" Legolas ignored the mumblings. At the time, he agreed with Gandalf, for that was the entire purpose of having such a small company. . .that and to counteract the Nine Ringwraiths. However, he also understood Boromir far better now. And to honor his friend, he would do this thing.

Legolas continued, "The last time I heard it, Boromir was calling desperately for aid as he defended Merry and Pippin against the Uruk-hai. It was in vain. . .we were too late to save him. I blow it now. I will not go forth and seek my friend, behaving as a thief in the night! I will not be shamed into being silent! I want those who would harm my friend to know. . .I am coming! And should they cause him any hurt, I want them to flee in terror, knowing I will come for them. Boromir. . .I am coming!"

With those words, he blew a long, determined blast from the horn. Lady Celebrian was smiling from ear to ear, her bright eyes filled with. . .pride. Yes. She looked proud. And. . .and so did his father. Haldir cringed a little, but he was smiling as well. That was fine. But Legolas made a vow, and he would not fail. _I am coming, Boromir_, he thought as he replaced the horn on his belt, _I am coming, and this time, I will not be too late!_

The Beginning

In the next story, the amnesiac currently known as 'Michael' will depart Raleigh for Campbell. He faces a new series of challenges in _A Whole New World_. As he gains his strength and learns more of this new language, Michael will need to find a new purpose. At the same time, Legolas and Haldir reach British Columbia and begin their search.

Thank you to everyone who has read and/or reviewed. Special thanks to Pipkin Sweetgrass. . .my brother and sisters of the Gwethil. . .and everyone who has made a suggestion or pointed out an error. I'll leave you with a cast list for the _Champions_ series. This is a list of actors who served as mental models while I was creating the characters, and not all characters mentioned have been introduced. In one case, a character was re-cast, to avoid giving myself a migraine. If someone else comes to mind while you're reading this, by all means. . .this is just whom I imagine in these roles.

Cast list:

Boromir/Michael: Sean Bean (of course)

Detective Megan Rafferty: Dana Barron

Detective Elena Gutierrez: Patricia Velazquez

Kristin Rafferty: Grace Park

Detective Christine Madsen: Katee Sackhoff

Detective Charles Aubrey: Morgan Freeman

Dalton Robeson: Eric Close

Francis Rafferty: Daniel Pilon

Ailsa Rafferty: Louise Sorel

Captain Lydia Anders: Gwynyth Walsh

Mayor Thomas Farrell/Sergeant Richard Dennison: Tim Dunigan

Brendan Farrell: Elijah Wood

Dr. Arabella Trask: Robbi Chong

Pelagia: Monika Schnarre

Elrohir/Elladan: Angel Ortiz

Elrond: Hugo Weaving

Celeborn: Marton Csokas

Gavin Rafferty (USMC retired): Ted King (originally Adam Baldwin, until I discovered the girls were _Serenity/Firefly_ fans)

Legolas Thranduilion: Orlando Bloom

Dr. Ronan Daly: John Rhys-Davies

Haldir: Craig Parker

Galadriel: Cate Blanchett

Celebrian: Kristin Lehman

Finduilas (flashbacks): Laurie Holden

Gandalf: Ian McKellen

Regine Dennison Farrell: Constance Towers

(why yes, I do have several soap actors in here, now that you mention it!)

Also, the following albums and musicians served as a 'soundtrack' while I was writing this:

_Atlantis_, by David Arkenstone

Jennifer Licko (a Celtic musician born and raised in North Carolina)

_Greatest Hits_, Air Supply

_Ancient Muse_, by Loreena McKennitt

_Night at the Museum_ soundtrack


End file.
